GIFT  OF 

rt  iff  7 


die  $ells  of  Captg 

AND    OTHER    ROMANCES 

OF  THE  SPANISH  DAYS  IN  CALI 
BY  S.  H.  M.  BYERS 


The  Press  calls  this  one  of  the  loveliest  books  ever 
Not  only  that  its  romances,  in  verse,  are  perfectly  delighti 
stones  of  the  picturesque  mission  days  in  California,  but  til 
self,  with  its  nearly  forty  unique  pictures  of  the  old  days 
beautiful  things.     What  a  charming  gift  book  it  is,  with 
top! 

John  S.  McGroarty,  California  poet  and   author  of 
says,  "This  is  a  book  that  should  have  a  cherished  place  i\ 
me  commend  it  to  all  lovers  of  western  romance   and   Amc 
derfully  beautiful  book.     Major  Byers  is  known  to  thousj 
is,  I  think,  his  finest  work,  which  is  saying  a  great  deal 

A  Los  Angeles  singer  writes — "I  never  read    lovelier   s 
mances  of  the  Mission  days  in  California." 

The  Los  Angeles  Examiner  says:   "Here  is  a  book  1 
fornia  home." 

The  Los  Angeles  Times  pronounced  it   "A   very   be 
illustrations  of  the  Spanish  days." 

"God  bless  you  for  writing  so  charming  a  book  abo 
the  father  Superior  of  the  Mission  San  Louis  del  Rey. 
"The  stories,"  said  an  eastern  critic,  "recall  Longfellow 

The  writer  is  the  author  of  many  books  and  songs 
song,  "Sherman's  March  to  the  Sea,"  sold  to  the  exte 
"Song  of  Iowa"  is  sung  in  every  Iowa  school-house.  His, 
was  officially  put  in  all  the  schools  of  the  State  of  New 


Price   $1.2 
book  stores, 
the   author   a 
California, 


THE  BELLS  OF  CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  BELLS  OF  CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


THE  BELLS  OF  CAPISTRANO 

and  other  Romances  of  the  Spanish 
Days  in  California 

By 

S.  H.  M.  BYERS 


THE  GRAFTON  PUBLISHING  CORPORATION 
LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA,  U.S.A.  MCMXVI 


COPYRIGHT  1916,  BY  S.  H.  M.  BYERS 
All  Rights  Reserved 


Table  of  Contents 

BELLS  OF  CAPISTRANO 11 

GLORIETTA,  Or  the  City  of  Fair  Dreams 55 

LA  FAVORITA,  A  Tale  of  the  Spanish  Days  in  California  81 

AT  SAN  DIEGO - 95 

Thirty-one  Illustrations 


Books  by  the  same  Author. 


The  Honeymoon        ----- 
With  Fire  and  Sword    -     -     -     -     - 
Collected  Poems  of  S.  H.  M.  Byers 
A  Layman's  Life  of  Jesus    -     -     -     • 


1.00 
1.00 
1.25 
1.00 


All  to  be  had  of  the  Grafton  Publishing  Corporation, 
publishers,  or  Book  Stores,  Los  Angeles,  Cal.,  or  Auto 
graph  Copies  from  the  author  direct,  at  Des  Moines,  Iowa. 


T*rww^ 


Foreword 

The  California  missions  were  established  by 
Spanish  Friars  in  the  middle  ancf  towards  the 
end  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Capistrano 
itself  was  dedicated  November  1,  1776.  It  is 
near  the  sea,  at  the  village  of  San  Juan 
Capistrano,  between  Los  Angeles  and  San 
Diego.  There  were  twenty-one  missions,  all 
told,  along  the  California  coast.  They  were 
connected  by  a  road  called  "El  Camino  Real," 
or  The  King's  Highway.  California  then  be 
longed  to  Spain.  It  was  the  most  romantic 
period  of  its  existence.  Most  of  the  missions 
are  in  ruins;  but  they  are  the  most  picturesque 
ruins  on  this  continent. 

Capistrano  mission  was  destroyed  by  an 
earthquake  December  8,  1812.  Forty  persons 
were  killed. 

The  description  of  life  at  the  missions,  as 
told  in  the  poem,  are  from  authentic  sources. 


The  Bells  of  Capistrano 

Woulds't  see  a  ruin  of  enchanting  beauty, 
And  hear  a  story  of  its  old-time  splendor, 
When  all  the  land  along  the  coast  was  Spanish, 
Save  the  wild  natives  bivouacked  in  the  forests? 
Then  turn  thy  steps  to  San  Juan  Capistrano, 
Go  there  by  moonlight,  almost  any  season, 
There  is  no  winter  in  that  golden  climate, 
Where  blooms  the  rose  in  April  or  December. 
There  by  the  waters  of  the  great  Pacific, 
Its  back  upon  the  mountain  and  the  desert, 
Stands  the  old  ruin,  silent  in  the  moonlight. 
Climb  to  some  eminence  and  look  about  you, 
Look  when  the  moon  is  highest  in  the  heavens, 
And  falls  full  on  the  mission's  great  quadrangle, 
Illuminating  all  the  dream-like,  slender  arches; 
Each  column  lights,  and  all  the  corridors; 
Or  fills  with  glory  yonder  falling  transept, 
And  thou  wilt  see  a  very  lovely  vision. 
The  nearby  hills  lie  sleeping  in  the  moonlight; 
Below  you  is  a  fair  and  fertile  valley, 
All  rich  in  lemon  trees,  and  groves  of  walnut; 
A  little  farther,  the  Pacific  Ocean; 
All  waveless  now,  but  glinting  in  the  moonlight 
As  if  a  glory  had  been  cast  upon  it. 
No  sound  is  heard  except  a  gentle  river— 
Or  else  a  mocking-bird  there  sweetly  singing. 
***** 

On  such  a  night  one  summer  evening,  sitting 
Beneath  that  pepper  tree  before  the  mission 
I  and  the  old  Alcalde  talked  together. 
There  was  a  village  wedding  on  that  evening 


12          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER   POEMS 

Within  the  chapel  of  that  broken  ruin, 
And  when  it  all  was  done  the  bells  were  ringing; 
Two  merry  boys  down  on  the  grass  were  pulling 
The  long  bell  ropes  that  reached  up  to  the  tower. 
A  pretty  sight  it  was  there  in  the  moonlight 
These  barefoot  boys  who  rang  the  wedding  marches, 
While  hills  and  valleys  echoed  back  the  music. 
The  bride,  a  dark-eyed  Spanish  girl,  and  pretty, 
Walked  out  on  roses  strewn  by  little  maidens, 
And  as  the  bells  died  of!  far  up  the  valley 
Guitars  were  heard,  and  castanets,  and  viols 
Down  at  the  inn  where  they  would  dance  till  morning. 
***** 

"It  all  reminds  me,"  said  the  old  Alcalde, 
"Of  that  old  tale  I  promised  once  to  tell  you. 
That  pretty  bride  you  saw — that  village  maiden, 
Could  trace  her  line  far  back  to  greater  people- 
Such  as  Francisco,  he  the  sweet  musician, 
And  fair  Dolores,  loveliest  of  the  valley, 
When  all  the  coast  was  famous  for  its  beauties." 
***** 

Well,  here's  the  story  told  at  Capistrano, 
You  must  have  read  in  parchments  old  and  faded, 
How  on  a  time  a  Spanish  ruler,  hearing 
Of  this  bright  land  by  the  Pacific  Ocean, 
Then  all  in  heathendom,  and  half  discovered, 
Sent  ships  and  priests  to  claim  the  blessed  country. 
Besides,  they  were  to  build  great  mission  houses 
Here  by  the  mountains  and  along  the  ocean— 
And  when  they  could,  convert  the  native  heathen. 
It  was  no  race  of  wild  and  fierce  born  warriors 
Lived  in  these  mountains  at  the  first  beginning, 
But  simple  people,  weak,  and  little  knowing. 
Well,  so  they  came,  these  pious  priests  and  soldiers, 
Built  these  great  missions  northward  by  the  ocean; 


14          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER   POEMS 

And  built  a  road,  "The  King's  Highway"  they  called  it, 
Four  hundred  leagues,  thus  linking  all  together. 
This  was  the  seventh;  and,  you  know  the  story- 
How  friars  came,  brought  with  them  bells,  and  vest 
ments— 

As  was  their  habit  in  the  first  beginning— 
And  started  thus  a  mission  in  the  desert. 
First  hung  the  bells  on  trees  to  call  the  heathen, 
Then  built  rude  huts  of  reeds  and  spreading  bushes; 
Had  started,  only,  when  a  cry  of  danger 
From  other  missions  made  them  hurry  to  them. 
Then  leaving  all,  they  went  to  San  Diego. 
The  bells  they  left  behind  them  in  the  forest, 
Hid  from  the  Indians  and  unholy  people; 
For  they  were  sacred  most  as  gifts  from  heaven — 
Blessed  by  the  Pope,  and  by  the  friars  worshipped. 
A  great  white  cross  they  planted  in  the  valley, 
Then  left  the  place  their  pious  tears  had  watered. 
*         #         *         *         * 

A  year  went  by,  and  stranger  friars  followed. 
The  cross  still  stood  there,  beckoning  to  the  heathen, 
Its  great  white  arms  forever  skyward  stretching; 
For  very  fear  the  red  man  left  it  standing- 
Told  awful  tales  of  strange  things  happening  near  it, 
Of  groaning  hills,  and  smoke  up  in  the  mountains, 
And  fires  that  blazed  upon  them  at  the  midnight. 
***** 

The  bells  were  gone,  and  no  soul  answered  whither; 
If  in  the  sand,  or  in  some  gloomy  canyon. 
Or  if,  perhaps,  deep  in  the  ocean's  bosom, 
For  he  was  dead  who  only  knew  the  secret. 
So  other  bells  were  borrowed  for  the  mission; 
And  once  again  the  cry  went  to  the  heathen. 
Who,  seeing  now  the  good  life  of  the  friars, 
Themselves  became  a  kinder  race  of  people; 


BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  15 

Came  to  the  cross  by  thousands  at  the  mission; 
Joined  in  the  friars'  labor,  and  the  building; 
Learned  many  crafts,  and  helped  in  many  places; 
A  simple  folk,  that  did  the  friars'  bidding. 
Day  in,  day  out,  the  people  carried  burdens; 
With  simple  tools  they  worked,  and  delved,  and  quar 
ried; 

Made  tiles  of  clay,  and  cut  trees  in  the  forest; 
So,  laboring  on,  the  mission  was  completed. 
Then  other  friars  came  and  their  assistants, 
And  teachers  came,  across  the  farthest  ocean; 
And  every  craft  was  taught  to  men  and  women ; 
The  busy  loom,  and  shuttle,  sounded  ever; 
And  schools  began,  and  every  craft  and  calling — 
None  dared  be  idle,  neither  man  nor  woman; 
For  next  to  serving  God,  was  honest  labor. 
So  taught  the  priests,  and  gave  themselves  example; 
And  next  to  these  the  art  of  being  joyous; 
Indoors,  or  out,  the  busy  hands  kept  moving; 
The  loom,  and  spindles,  occupied  the  women, 
And  tilling  ground  gave  men  their  daily  labor; 
This,  and  the  vineyards,  and  the  herds  of  cattle; 
Toil  brought  them  sleep,  and  sleep  new-born  endeavor. 
The  rising  sun  saw  all  within  the  chapel; 
An  early  mass — a  little  song,  and  music, 
Some  simple  breakfast,  made  of  beans,  and  barley, 
And  then  the  fields  rejoiced  to  see  them  coming; 
A  noon-day  rest,  an  evening  rendered  joyous 
By  song,  and  dance,  and  games  for  men  and  women. 
Sometimes  a  flute  was  heard  out  in  the  garden; 
It  was  Francisco — he,  the  sweet  musician, 
The  mission  chorister  for  all  the  singers. 
Straight  from  Castile  he  came,  his  music  with  him. 
One  thought  he  had — some  day  to  be  a  friar— 
A  priest,  perhaps,  who  knows,  perhaps  a  cardinal; 
Such  things  had  been — and  might  it  not  still  happen? 


BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  17 

That  was  his  room,  there  by  the  right  hand  corner — 

The  second  door  beyond  the  mission  portal. 

It  was  inborn  in  him,  I  think,  this  music — 

But  much  from  nature,  too,  he  must  have  captured; 

Birds,  and  the  waterfalls,  and  every  gladness 

To  him  had  melodies  of  untold  sweetness; 

But  most  his  flute  afforded  joyous  rapture. 

Dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  and  very  young,  and  Spanish, 

And  handsome,  too,  almost  beyond  expressing; 

Fra  Angelo  a  face  like  his  had  painted — 

But,  giving  wings,  had  made  an  angel  of  him. 

Music  his  joy,  nor  even  love  nor  passion 

Had  touched  his  heart,  or  changed  his  true  devotion. 

Not  love  he  knew,  nor  any  of  love's  pleasures — 

Not  love  he  knew,  nor  any  of  love's  sorrows. 

There  still  was  time.    Who  knows  to  read  his  future? 

He  loved  his  music,  day  and  night  and  morning; 

And  so,  at  last,  not  one  of  all  the  missions 

Could  boast  a  choir  like  that  of  Capistrano. 

Nor  anywhere  was  the  Te  Deum  chanted, 

The  high  mass  sung  in  such  a  glorious  fashion, 

As  when  Francisco  and  his  choir  of  singers 

Filled  all  the  mission  with  enchanting  music. 

The  very  hills  seemed  listening  and  in  gladness, 

As  if  they  heard  the  violins  and  viols, 

The  flutes  and  drums,  the  castanets  and  voices, 

But  most  of  all  the  voice  of  fair  Dolores. 

She,  from  far  Carmelo,  the  blessed  valley, 

Had  come  to  learn  of  him  the  sweet  musician. 

At  far  rancherias  they  knew  her  beauty, 

At  rich  estates  where  lived  the  exiled  Spanish; 

For  such  there  were  on  all  the  sea-line  border. 

So  on  a  time  came  gay  Antonio  riding 

His  great  white  stallion  to  the  mission  service; 

His  silver  spurs,  and  jeweled  bridle  shining, 


18          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

His  great  sombrero,  decked  with  gold  and  ribbon, 
His  silken  vest,  and  trousers  made  of  velvet ; 
Down  low  he  bowed,  and  crossed  himself,  and  entered. 
Dolores  saw  him,  thought  him  very  splendid— 
But  turned  a  little  seeing  he  was  looking 
Straight  at  her  face,  where  she  was  standing  singing, 
Ashamed  to  be  so  gazed  at  there  in  public, 
Yet  in  her  heart  a  little  proud  at  knowing 
It  was  her  beauty  kept  him  looking  at  her. 
For  where  was  woman  yet  that  needed  telling 
If  anyone  were  looking  at  her  beauty? 
And  she  was  beautiful,  and  good  as  beautiful, 
For  goodness,  too,  is  but  a  kind  of  beauty; 
Without  it  beauty  is  not  even  beautiful. 
Fair  face  she  had,  and  hair  all  richly  golden, 
And  eyes  like  violets  in  the  early  May  time. 
*         *         *         *         # 

And  this  was  he,  Antonio,  the  handsome, 

With  raven  hair,  and  eyes  black  as  the  midnight. 

A  hundred  times  had  she  not  heard  his  praises! 

The  finest  rider,  too,  in  all  the  valley; 

Possessed  of  lands  that  reached  clear  to  the  ocean; 

Exiled  from  Spain  when  Bonaparte  was  ruler, 

When  despots'  heels  were  on  his  country's  border. 

Once  on  a  time,  in  some  great  broil  or  other, 

He  took  a  fort,  and  won  the  young  king's  favor. 

Great  grants  received,  of  lands  in  California. 

Then  came  the  French,  and  drove  the  king  to  exile; 

Antonio,  too,  was  chased  across  the  ocean— 

Where  now  he  lived  among  his  mountain  acres, 

Lord  of  great  fields  beyond  all  computation, 

Square  miles  of  valley,  reaching  north  and  southward, 

Square  miles  of  mesa,  chaparral  and  mountain, 

Where  roamed  his  droves  of  horses  and  of  cattle. 

Dolores  saw  him  when  he  was  not  looking, 


20          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

Saw  all  the  richness  of  his  velvet  costume, 

The  gold  and  silver  of  his  spurs  and  bridle, 

Saw  the  white  stallion  prancing  there  and  pawing, 

Best  blood  of  Monterey's  world-famous  horses; 

Saw  him,  Antonio,  the  handsome  rider — 

The  princely  bow  he  made  in  passing  by  her; 

Saw  all  and  wondered  what  fair  maid  would  win  him; 

And  as  he  rode  far  off,  and  up  the  valley, 

Still,  longing,  looked,  and  wondered  who  would  win 

him. 

Now  he  rode  off  and  onward  in  the  valley, 
Forever  thinking  of  the  mission  music, 
And  why  it  was  his  soul  was  so  estatic? 
Or  why  the  world  seemed  better  now  and  brighter? 
Men  had  been  smitten  in  a  single  moment, 
Such  sudden  ways  love  often  has  of  doing; 
And  so  Antonio,  though  he  did  not  know  it, 
Had  got  a  wound  almost  beyond  explaining. 
A  change  there  was,  but  words  cannot  express  it, 
Some  subtle  thing  awakened  other  feelings; 
The  wild  rose,  somehow,  had  another  meaning, 
And  if  a  bird  sang  from  some  bush  or  olive, 
His  mind  went  back  to  yonder  chapel's  music. 
Alone  he  was,  yet  one  sweet  face  was  with  him, 
As  't  were  a  spirit  in  the  air  beside  him; 
So  he  went  on,  and  upward  in  the  valley; 
Went  to  his  home  and  waited,  all  impatient, 
A  certain  festival  down  at  the  mission, 
When  all  the  people  came  to  games  and  races; 
Came  from  the  mission  down  at  San  Diego, 
From  San  Obispo,  and  a  dozen  others; 
She,  too,  would  come,  somehow  he  knew  and  waited. 
***** 

The  spring  had  come  with  all  its  birds  and  flowers, 
Such  spring  as  comes  to  that  fair  climate  only, 


BELLS  OF   CAPISTRANO  21 

With  almond  blooms  and  gold  acacia  blossoms, 
Bright  orange  groves,  and  walnut  trees  and  lemon, 
And  ocean  breezes  sweeping  up  the  valley, 
And  sunshine  lying  on  the  hills  forever, 
And  misty  mountains  leaning  up  to  heaven — 
Such  was  the  scene  that  made  life  there  delicious. 
Still  at  the  mission,  like  a  beehive's  humming, 
Each  soul  was  busy  with  its  love  and  labor; 
Some  in  the  shops  a  hundred  things  were  doing — 
Some  saying  prayers,  and  some  reciting  lessons, 
For  every  neophyte  must  work  or  study, 
Converted  souls  must  know  that  labor's  holy. 
The  idle  Indian  soon  became  a  helper- 
Learned  trades,  and  crafts,  as  well  as  prayers  and  masses, 
Still  watched  the  herds  upon  a  hundred  hillsides. 
***** 

In  an  enclosure,  like  an  eastern  harem, 

Or  old-time  nunnery,  well-kept  and  guarded, 

The  women  toiled  at  many  a  lighter  calling — 

With  busy  shuttle  and  the  needle  going, 

Clothed  all  the  people  living  at  the  mission — 

Made  stuffs  to  sell,  bright  Indian  robes,  and  blankets, 

Strange  baskets  wove,  of  bulrush  and  wild  grasses. 

TF  ^K  %  ^  ^* 

The  girls  their  music  had,  as  well  as  labor, 

For  pleasure  there  was  hand-maid  still  of  toiling, 

And  all  knew  music,  flute,  or  voice,  or  viol, 

The  sweet  guitar  at  every  night  was  thrumming; 

And  often  times  Dolores  taught  them  Spanish, 

Or  thought  out  plans  for  this  thing,  or  for  that  thing, 

Helped  find  new  shapes  for  baskets  and  for  blankets, 

New  bead  work  taught  them  for  their  belts  and  sandals, 

And  pretty  ways  for  them  the  Indian  maidens; 

Or  stories  told  them  of  the  old-time  Spanish, 

And  other  tales  of  that  famed  city  northwards, 


BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  23 

Of  Monterey — and  how  the  people  lived  there — 

Soft  luxury-loving,  as  the  lotus  eaters; 

How  pearls  were  found  there  in  its  glorious  waters, 

Enriching  thousands  living  but  for  pleasure; 

Of  haciendas,  in  the  hills,  and  valleys, 

And  richer  lords  than  any  Spanish  nobles, 

Dressed  all  in  velvet,  and  with  rich  sombreros— 

And  one  she  thought  of,  while  she  yet  was  speaking. 

Told  of  the  jewels  worn  by  dark-eyed  women, 

Great  strings  of  pearls,  each  worth  a  prince's  ransom; 

Of  sudden  fortunes  made  in  mines  forgotten, 

Or  by  vast  herds  of  horses  and  of  cattle. 

How  some  from  Spain  had  brought  their  fortunes  with 

them, 

Brought,  too,  their  manners,  and  their  Spanish  customs, 
Till  all  the  coast  was  but  a  Spanish  province. 
Then  tales  she  told  of  Carmelo  the  holy, 
Her  own  fair  home  there  in  the  blessed  valley. 
Told  of  Junipero  the  Christian  leader, 
Who  built  the  missions  for  the  heathen  people; 
And  thus  she  won  the  hearts  of  all  the  maidens. 
***** 

Francisco  now  was  busier  than  ever, 
Preparing  all  things  for  the  great  fiesta; 
A  hundred  neophytes  in  chorus  training, 
Young  clever  souls  with  castanets  and  viols. 
And  dancing,  too,  that  was  almost  religion; 
Were  they  not  Spanish,  they,  and  all  the  people, 
Save  yonder  natives  on  the  hills  and  desert, 
Was  this  not  Spain,  and  all  its  customs  Spanish? 
Would  they  not  come,  the  dark-eyed  Spanish  ladies, 
From  haciendas  by  the  sea  or  mountains, 
From  Monterey,  too,  and  the  farther  border! 
So  day  by  day  went  on  the  getting  ready. 
Dolores  helped  in  all  the  gladsome  labor, 


24         BELLS  OF  CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

A  favored  one,  as  niece  of  him  the  Padre, 
Child  of  his  brother  in  Carmelo  valley. 
Her  duty  was,  beside  her  music  lessons, 
To  be  the  guardian  of  the  churches'  treasures — 
The  silken  stoles,  the  chasubles  all  golden, 
The  altar  cloths,  with  silver  all  embroidered, 
The  silver  candlesticks  from  Spain  brought  over; 
To  gather  roses  for  the  mission  altar— 
"The  lady  sacristan,"  the  friars  called  her. 
A  pleasant  labor,  too,  was  now  Francisco's, 
With  fair  Dolores  in  the  work  assisting. 
Quick  thought  was  hers,  so  many  things  devising, 
Flags  and  festoons  from  arch  and  column  swinging, 
And  yellow  poppies  banked  on  cooling  waters. 
Strange  feelings  now  Francisco's  soul  were  moving, 
Strange  but  delightful,  and  beyond  expressing. 
No  thoughts  had  he  of  love  for  any  woman, 
For  he  was  pledged,  some  happy  day  or  other, 
To  be  a  priest  with  no  thought  but  of  serving. 
Yet  somehow  still  grew  pleasanter  the  labor, 
Somehow  he  lingered  in  Dolores'  presence, 
Not  knowing  why,  save  that  it  was  so  pleasant, 
Did  things  twice  over  that  he  might  be  near  her, 
Still  stayed  and  stayed,  nor  knew  why  he  was  staying. 
Perhaps  Dolores  could  herself  have  guessed  it, 
Girls  are  so  quick  at  knowing  things  so  subtle; 
Besides,  she,  too,  had  feelings,  more  than  tender, 
Although  Francisco  never  once  had  seen  it, 
So  hid  were  they  in  other  thoughts  and  fancies— 
Of  one  she  saw,  his  great  sombrero  waving, 
And  wondered  who  if  any  one  would  win  him, 
Not  knowing  then  that  she  herself  had  won  him. 
***** 

The  day  was  done,  the  Angelus  was  ringing, 
Francisco  heard,  and  led  the  chapel  music, 


26          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER   POEMS 

Then  all  the  night  lay  thinking  of  Dolores. 
And  when  the  dawn  another  day  was  bringing 
Across  the  hills,  and  downward  to  the  valley, 
Lighting  anew  the  olive  groves,  and  orchards, 
And  casting  gold  upon  the  waking  ocean, 
He  wandered  fieldwards  past  the  Indians'  cabins- 
Adobe  huts  with  roofs  of  reeds  and  grasses, 
Looked  at  the  river  from  the  canyons  leaping; 
Still  went  and  wandered  by  the  cliffs  of  ocean; 
Looked  at  the  ships  with  mission-cargoes  loading, 
Saw  pelts  of  oxen  by  the  thousand  loaded, 
Thrown  from  the  cliffs  down  to  the  waiting  sailors, 
Great  tons  of  wheat  and  barley  brought  for  shipment, 
And  casks  of  oil,  and  wine,  from  their  own  vineyards; 
Then  turned  his  steps  and  went  a  little  hillwards— 
Each  moment  thinking  of  the  fair  Dolores, 
Of  things  three  days  now  burning  in  his  bosom— 
Of  that  old  hope  some  day  to  be  a  friar; 
How  now  the  vow  was  somehow  slipping  from  him, 
As  slip  the  dews  in  sunshine  from  the  grasses; 
And  in  its  place  a  beauteous  face,  and  figure, 
Yet  never  knew  that  it  was  love  possessed  him. 
Still  roamed  in  happiness  across  the  meadows- 
Saw  nothing  fair  that  did  not  mind  him  of  her, 
Thought  out  sweet  names  by  which  sometimes  to  call 

her, 

"The  poppy  girl,"  or  "Golden-haired  Dolores." 
Wild  roses  grew  beside  him  on  the  heather— 
They  were  so  fair,  he  wondered  would  they  please  her? 
Then  plucking  manv,  "this  will  deck  her  bosom, 
This  double  one  will  suit  her  hair  so  golden," 
Then  poppies  plucked,  the  great  wild  vellow  poppies, 
And  peach  tree  blossoms  clustered  with  the  others, 
And  manv  more,  not  knowing  why  he  did  it. 
All  these  he  took  and  found  the  sweet  Dolores, 


BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  27 

And  almost  bashful  gave  to  her  the  poppies, 
The  roses,  too ;  she  took  them,  smiling  sweetly. 
MYou  knew  my  fancy  for  the  yellow  poppies?" 
Demurely  said  she,  glancing  softly  at  him. 
"But  this  one's  yours,  Francisco — let  me  fix  it," 
And  reaching  towards  him  with  the  pretty  blossom, 
Her  eyes  now  shining,  looking  clearly  at  him, 
Her  lily  hand  just  touched  his  cheek  a  moment; 
A  sudden  thrill  went  through  Francisco's  being— 
And  in  that  thrill  love  had  its  way,  as  ever; 
There  was  no  need  of  any  further  telling. 
***** 

That  day  the  festival  had  its  beginning, 
And,  when  Dolores  in  the  choir  was  singing, 
The  golden  poppies  lay  upon  her  bosom. 
The  mass  once  sung,  the  happy  people  gathered 
Around  the  mission  for  the  games,  and  dances. 
From  every  valley  and  the  far  rancherias 
They  came  by  hundreds  bringing  gifts,  and  prizes, 
So,  too,  the  Indians  from  the  inland  country, 
And  scattering  seed,  the  sign-word  of  their  friendship. 
*         *         *         *         * 

Now  rang  the  bells,  the  signal  all  was  ready. 
First  came  the  races  of  the  Indian  maidens, 
Half-naked  women,  from  the  neighboring  desert, 
Against  the  girls  now  at  the  mission  living. 
Then  games  of  ball  the  desert  girls  excelling 
By  very  strength,  a  hundred  plaudits  winning. 
***** 

A  little  pause,  the  great  event  was  coming— 
Out  on  the  plaza,  seawards  from  the  mission, 
The  bear  and  bull  fight  was  about  commencing. 
Gifts  had  been  offered  by  the  mission  friars 
For  some  wild  beast,  the  fiercer  one,  the  better. 


. 


BELLS  OF   CAPISTRANO  29 

And  many  days  the  mission  youths  had  hunted 
In  wood  and  canyon  till  at  last  they  found  him, 
A  wild  grey  monster,  savage  and  ferocious. 
All  unawares  they  sprang  on  him  with  lassoes, 
And  brought  him  growling  to  the  safe  enclosure. 
Around  the  square  the  excited  people  waited, 
Priests  in  their  robes,  and  dark-eyed  Spanish  women 
From  far  pueblos  and  old  Spanish  ranches. 
A  hundred  youths  in  festal  day  apparel, 
With  jingling  spurs,  and  jewel-mounted  saddles 
Sat  on  their  steeds,  encircling  all  the  plaza, 
Receiving  smiles  and  their  own  smiles  returning. 
There,  too,  Antonio  most  of  all  was  noticed, 
On  his  white  stallion,  gold  and  lace  apparelled, 
His  broad  sombrero  with  its  jeweled  ribbon, 
His  dark  eyes  glancing  when  he  saw  Dolores 
There  on  a  bench,  Francisco  sitting  near  her, 
And  golden  poppies  fastened  on  her  bosom, 
Ten  times  as  handsome  as  she  ever  had  been. 
He  spurred  his  stallion,  galloped  nearer  to  her, 
Waved  his  sombrero,  as  he  once  had  waved  it 
That  other  morning  when  she  saw  him  passing, 
And  wondering  thought  who  is  the  maid  to  win  him— 
Not  knowing  still,  that  she  herself  would  win  him. 
A  moment  more  the  signal  bells  were  ringing; 
The  mission  portals  to  the  plaza  opened, 
There  was  a  cheer,  and  waving  fans  and  banners; 
The  great  black  bull  was  slowly  coming  forward — 
Back  in  the  patio,  decked  in  flowers  and  ribbons, 
He  had  been  waiting  for  the  sign  of  battle. 
Amazed  he  looked  a  moment  at  the  people, 
Then  sudden  saw  the  monster  thing  before  him, 
A  grizzly  pile  of  hair,  and  claws,  and  clutches. 
The  bear  arose  and  on  his  hind  feet  standing, 
Reached  out  his  arms  as  if  to  do  him  honor, 


30          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER  POEMS 

Blinked  his  small  eyes,  and  calmly  stood  and  waited. 
His  very  calmness  scared  the  bull  a  moment, 
Not  knowing  quite  if  he  should  run  or  battle; 
Then  shut  his  eyes,  and  bent  his  great  neck  downward, 
And  with  his  horns  lunged  at  the  thing  before  him— 
A  little  missed — the  bear  was  quickly  on  him, 
His  mighty  arms  around  his  neck  were  pressing, 
His  awful  teeth  deep  in  his  throat  imbedded— 
With  roar  of  pain  around  the  ring  he  started, 
Grim  as  grim  death,  the  bear  held  on  the  harder, 
Till,  by  sheer  dragging  once  his  hold  was  broken, 
And  bruin  rolled  a  little  distance  from  him. 
Again  the  bull  with  a  terrific  bellow 
Plunged  at  the  beast  with  his  red  eyes  distended; 
Again  the  bear  as  in  a  vise  has  caught  him, 
And  bear  and  bull  roll  in  the  dust  together. 
It  was  not  long,  for  bruin  all  exhausted, 
By  loss  of  blood  lay  still  a  little  moment, 
When,  with  a  roar  the  bull  in  pain  and  maddened, 
Rushed  on  his  prey,  and  goring,  left  him  dying. 
There  was  a  cheer,  a  thousand  people  rising, 
And  cheers  once  more,  and  all  the  bells  were  ringing. 
***** 

Now  changed  the  scene,  the  horse-race  is  beginning, 
A  league  of  road  straight  northward  from  the  mission — • 
There  all  the  crowds  again  are  come  together. 
One  thought  alone  moves  every  man  or  woman, 
One  idol  only  worshipped  in.  the  province; 
Next  to  religion,  were  the  people's  horses. 
"Who  loves  his  horse  alone  can  love  a  woman- 
It  was  a  saying  in  the  Spanish  province. 
No  Arab  flying  on  the  wasted  desert 
Had  better  steeds,  or  better  knew  to  ride  them — 
Men's  lives  were  spent  so  wholly  in  the  saddle; 
Their  greatest  treasure  often  was  expended 


32          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

On  jewelled  trappings  for  the  horse  and  rider; 
And  he  was  rich  who  rode  his  jeweled  saddle, 
Though  he  were  homeless  else,  and  wholly  friendless. 
And  fleet  they  were,  these  California  horses, 
Fleet  as  the  wind  on  mountain  or  in  desert; 
And  all  one's  riches  oft  were  staked  upon  them. 
And  so  today,  one  saw  great  bags  of  silver 
On  carts  piled  up,  and  at  the  roadside  waiting, 
There  to  be  gambled  on  a  favorite  racer. 
An  hour  or  so,  and  fortunes  most  had  vanished — 
Lost  on  this  horse,  or  that  one,  in  the  racing. 
Then  came  the  last  the  piece  de  resistance — 
The  horses  running  without  any  rider. 
Ten  splendid  steeds  stood  stripped  there  for  the  starting, 
White  stallions,  known  as  swiftest  of  the  valley; 
Antonio's  horse  was  there  among  the  many; 
No  bridles  theirs,  nor  saddles,  nor  yet  riders- 
Just  bells,  and  spurs,  to  madden  them  to  running. 
***** 

The  signal  fires,  and  wildly  they  are  started, 
Not  knowing  where,  save  that  they  must  be  flying; 
Like  a  tornado  they  have  passed  the  people, 
Who  hold  their  breath  too  moved  for  any  cheering; 
One  league,  two  leagues — and  faster  fly  the  horses, 
Great  clouds  of  dust  the  races  most  obscuring — 
One  runner  now  is  leading  all  the  others- 
Just  by  one  neck,  Antonio's  horse  is  winning — 
And  with  a  bound  the  final  goal  he  crosses. 
A  shot  announces  that  the  race  is  over; 
A  thousand  throats  the  victor's  horse  are  cheering, 
And  he  is  led  among  the  crowds  of  people. 
He  walks  on  roses  scattered  now  before  him, 
As  comes  a  hero  from  the  battle's  thunder. 
Dolores,  too,  has  cast  a  flower  before  him; 
Antonio  sees  it  with  a  smile  of  gladness, 


BELLS  OF   CAPISTRANO  33 

Picks  up  the  rose,  and  kissing  throws  it  to  her, 
Then  leading  now,  the  splendid  steed  before  her, 
With  a  great  bow,  and  all  so  courteous  looking, 
Presents  the  stallion  to  the  fair  Dolores. 
uOh,  signorita,  look,  your  gladsome  beauty 
This  day  eclipses  every  beauty  present, 
The  horse  is  yours.    You  know  it  is  a  custom 
Who  wins  a  race  must  make  some  gift  or  other 
To  her  he  deems  most  fair  of  any  women. 
Adieu !  Adieu !"  he  waved  his  great  sombrero, 
And  left  Dolores  standing  there  and  blushing. 
Still  on  her  arm  the  silver  bridle  rested, 
A  little  while  she  stroked  the  horse's  shoulder, 
Then  saw  Antonio  passing  to  the  plaza— 
And  wondered  still  if  any  maid  would  win  him. 
***** 

The  day  is  done,  the  Angelus  is  ringing, 

An  evening  prayer,  and  then  the  feast  and  dances. 

Francisco's  choir,  with  castanets  and  viols, 

His  many  singers  have  already  gathered 

Where  hang  the  lanterns  from  the  palms  and  peppers. 

The  wilder  Indians,  from  the  hills  and  canyons, 

Have  started  homeward,  going  up  the  valley, 

Save  two  or  three  now  hiding  in  the  bushes. 

Bright  is  the  scene  and  brighter  yet  the  dances; 

Gay  cavaliers,  and  wondrous  dark-eyed  women, 

And  brown-robed  priests,  and  olive-colored  maidens, 

Young  neophytes,  the  children  of  the  mission, 

And  soldiers,  guardsmen  of  the  mission  people, 

And  sailors  coming  from  the  ships  at  anchor. 

Some  danced  the  waltz,  and  some  the  gay  bolero, 

Still  others  in  the  wild  fandango  reveled  . 

And  there  were  smiles  and  pressing  hands  and  whispers, 

And  praise  of  eyes  that  shone  in  soft  replying. 

Dolores,  radiant  as  the  scene  before  her, 


BELLS  OF   CAPISTRANO  35 

Danced  till  the  midnight  with  her  two  adorers, 
And  on  her  breast  the  golden  poppies  carried — 
Yet,  in  her  mind,  she  saw  a  gay  sombrero, 
And  heard  the  words  "most  beauteous  of  women." 
Francisco,  often  as  his  music  let  him— 
Beheld  her,  fairest  there  of  all  the  dancers; 
Beheld  the  poppies,  too,  and  rested  happy. 
But  'twas  Antonio  who  danced  so  often. 
And  kissed  her  hand  as  every  dance  was  finished, 
Looked  at  the  poppies  resting  on  her  bosom, 
Nor  guessed,  one  moment,  what  could  be  their  meaning. 
*         *         *         *         * 

Once,  when  the  music  ceased  a  little  moment, 

Dolores  went  out  in  the  moonlight  walking, 

A  little  neophyte  her  sole  companion. 

Scarce  fifty  paces  from  the  dancers  going, 

They  heard  low  talking,  then  a  footstep  nearing — 

Three  painted  Indians  from  the  roses  springing, 

Quick  as  an  eagle  unexpected  pounces 

Upon  his  prey,  so  pounced  they  on  Dolores. 

There  was  a  cry,  the  neophyte  came  screaming— 

"Dolores  killed,  the  Indians  have  got  her." 

Loud  rang  the  bells,  "The  Indians  were  uprising" 

So  went  the  cry  alarming  all  the  valley. 

A  little  while  the  child,  her  senses  gaining, 

Told  how  she  knew  the  faces  of  the  villains. 

Of  her  own  tribe  they  were,  up  in  the  mountains, 

There  were  but  three,  and  lived  alone  by  plunder. 

Before  the  dawn,  a  hundred  were  pursuing, 

On  foot,  on  horseback,  priests  and  friends  and  soldiers. 

All  day  they  hunted  in  the  woods  and  canyon, 

And  not  a  trace  of  either  man  or  woman 

With  hope  most  gone  the  people  half  distracted 

Gave  up  the  hunt,  "Dolores  has  been  murdered." 

Francisco  only  kept  up  hope  and  sought  her. 


36          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER  POEMS 

Footsore  and  weary  through  the  forest  went  he, 

By  paths  scarce  known  to  any  but  the  Indians, 

Nor  found  a  sign  of  where  she  might  be  hidden. 

Antonio,  too,  on  his  white  stallion  sought  her, 

Dashed  to  the  canyon  with  its  dark  recesses, 

Flew  to  the  edges  of  the  far-off  desert. 

Once  saw  some  trace  of  bandits  in  the  mountains, 

Rode  faster  yet,  determined  to  o'ertake  them, 

And  kill  them  ere  they  reached  their  secret  cavern. 

It  was  a  plan  if  anyone  should  find  her, 

Dead  or  alive,  the  mission  bells  should  tell  it. 

With  heavy  heart  Francisco  still  was  searching, 

Sad  and  alone  deep  in  the  hills  and  forest, 

When  all  at  once  the  bells  rang  in  the  valley. 

"Found!  Found!"  he  cried,  and  hastened  toward  the 

mission. 

An  Indian  boy  had  signaled  from  the  canyon, 
That  she  was  found  and  all  went  out  to  meet  her. 
Francisco,  too,  and  saw  Antonio  coming 
On  his  white  horse,  Dolores  on  before  him. 
A  mad'ning  thought  a  moment  overwhelmed  him, 
Yet  thanked  he  God  to  know  she  had  been  rescued. 
***** 

Two  days,  and  then  the  festival  renewing, 
All  sang  and  danced  in  fair  Dolores'  honor; 
A  little  pale  she  was,  yet  fairer  most  than  ever. 
Antonio  told  them  how  he  saved  Dolores— 
With  that  swift  horse,  he  caught  the  bandits  flying, 
And  fighting  slew  them  there  within  the  canyon, 
Just  as  they  reached  their  far  and  secret  cavern. 
It  was  most  morning  now,  and  yet  they  reveled, 
Or  wandered  singing  down  beside  the  river. 
There  by  its  bank  Antonio  and  Dolores 
Sat  down  and  talked  of  this  her  great  adventure. 
With   thankful   gratitude,   beyond   expressing, 


BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  37 

Dolores  prayed  all  blessings  should  come  to  him. 

Antonio  heard  and  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it, 

Told  of  his  love,  born  that  first  day  he  saw  her. 

Would  she  be  his,  heaven's  blessings  would  be  on  him. 

"You  have  been  kind,"  was  all  Dolores  answered, 

"While  life  shall  last  this  day  will  be  remembered." 

Then  there  was  silence,  and  a  quick  heart-beating— 

A  burning  struggle  in  Dolores'  bosom, 

She  dared  not  speak  the  thing  she  should  have  spoken; 

And  when  again,  with  burning  words  he  urged  her, 

"Pray,  wait  a  little,"  was  her  only  answer— 

"I  will  go  home  to  Carmelo  tomorrow." 

There  I  will  weight  it  all,  so  thought  she  silent, 

And  farther  gave  not  any  word  of  answer, 

But  slowly  walked  with  him  back  toward  the  plaza. 

The  stars  were  down,  the  dawn  was  almost  breaking; 

The  music  ceased,  and  yet  Antonio  pressed  her, 

Told  of  the  dangers  he  had  passed  to  save  her; 

Told  how  the  king  would  some  day  yet  restore  him 

His  Spanish  rights,  his  titles  and  his  castle; 

Told  how  some  day  they  two  would  walk  together 

Beside  a  lake  within  his  Spanish  garden. 

Dolores  heard,  but  gave  no  certain  answer, 

Her  thoughts  confused  with  all  the  past  day's  doings. 

Her  thoughts  of  that  bright  day  when  first  she  saw  him. 

How  she  had  wondered  who  would  some  time  win  him, 

Then  suddenly,  as  seeking  some  delaying— 

"Wait  just  a  little,"  smiling,  when  she  said  it, 

"Once  on  a  time,  beside  this  very  river, 

A  little  party  of  us  young  folks  gathered, 

And  I  had  suitors  pressing  for  an  answer. 

And  I  held  daisies,  counting  them  all  over, 

Each  petal  gave  some  pretty  little  answer, 

Yet  leaving  doubt  if  either  of  them  loved  me. 

'He  loves  me,  loves  me  not,'  you've  seen  them  do  it. 

Well,  that  was  when  the  fine  new  church  was  founded, 


38          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER   POEMS 

The  dear  old  bells,  long  lost,  were  now  so  wanted, 

The  Padre  said  no  other  bells  would  answer, 

These  ones  were  sacred,  for  the  Pope  had  blessed  them. 

So  all  the  valley  here  was  put  at  searching, 

For  many  days,  and  no  soul  ever  found  them, 

And  there  was  sorrow  here  in  all  the  valley. 

Then,  lovers  pressing  me,  I  made  a  promise; 

The  daisies  first  I  threw  into  the  river, 

Their  little  play  had  settled  nothing  for  me. 

Whoever  finds  the  missing  bells,  and  brings  them 

To  yonder  tower  the  day  that  it  is  finished,' 

I  said  it  laughingly,  'him,  I  will  marry.' 

And  so  you  see  that  I  have  made  a  promise; 

I  am  fast  bounden  till  the  church  is  finished, 

But  if  the  bells  are  not  then  there  and  ringing, 

I  am  released,  and  am  no  longer  bounden. 

Wait  but  till  then,  and  you  shall  have  an  answer." 

Antonio  laughed,  "If  that  be  all,  Dolores, 

Then  never  day  will  come  that  you  are  married. 

The  bells,  men  say,  were  cast  into  the  ocean. 

But,  true,  or  no,  let  us  a  compact  enter; 

Give  me  one  word,  and,  if,  by  chance,  tomorrow, 

Or  any  time  before  the  church  is  finished, 

Some  happy  soul  should  find  the  missing  treasure, 

That  moment  I  release  you  from  the  promise." 

So  they  walked  on,  still  talking,  toward  the  mission. 

"Good  night,"  Dolores  said,  "or  rather  morning," 

And  did  not  know,  or  scarcely,  she  had  promised. 

*         *         *         *         * 

They  stayed  good  friends,  Francisco  and  Dolores. 

"Fate  was  unfriendly  to  me  then  as  ever," 

So  said  he  wandering  on  the  flowering  meadows. 

"I  should  have  known  how  far  she  was  above  me, 

I,  a  musician  only,  he,  a  lordly  noble. 

I  should  have  kept  the  vow  to  some  day  enter 

The  holy  service  of  the  Lord  and  Master. 


BELLS  OF   CAPISTRANO  39 

But,  somehow,  love  all  resolution  conquers. 
I  was  but  human — loved  her  without  knowing— 
And  I  am  glad  I  never  told  her  of  it. 
She  never  knew  for  certain  that  I  loved  her; 
Nor  had  I  any  right  to  think  of  loving; 
Save  one  dear  glance  she  gave  me  on  that  morning 
She  placed  the  yellow  poppies  on  my  shoulder, 
What  right  had  I  to  think  she  ever  loved  me?" 
So,  many  days,  Francisco  tried  to  think  it- 
He  "had  no  right,"  and  so  would  overcome  it- 
Yet  went  on  loving  spite  of  pain  and  promise. 
That  very  day  Dolores  had  departed. 
By  chance,  a  ship  bound  northward,  stopped  a  little; 
To  Monterey  'twas  bound;  Carmelo  near  it, 
And  so  she  went  scarce  knowing  she  was  promised. 


Antonio  now  came  to  the  mission  often, 

Perhaps  the  memory  of  that  morning  drew  him, 

When  first  he  saw  Dolores  in  the  chapel! 

Its  patron  now,  and  many  gifts  he  brought  it, 

And  often  helping,  showed  the  mission  Indians 

New  ways  of  doing,  sent  skilled  people  to  them. 

So  hurried,  too,  the  great  church  they  were  building. 

It  had  been  years,  so  slow  the  work  proceeded— 

The  only  church  of  stone  in  all  the  province; 

And  stone  by  stone  the  whole  was  slowly  carried 

From  yonder  canyon  by  the  men  and  women. 

A  little  while  the  temple  would  be  finished, 

A  house  of  God  there  standing  by  the  mountains, 

A  house  of  God  that  looked  forever  seawards, 

The  bells  alone  they  were  not  yet  discovered. 

Once  more  they  hunted  for  them  northward,  southward, 

So  zealous  all,  Antonio  most  was  fearing 

They  might  yet  find  them,  somewhere,  always  thinking 

Of  that  strange  promise  made  by  fair  Dolores ; 


BELLS  OF   CAPISTRANO  41 

And  also  thinking  what  himself  had  promised, 
And  so  he  hurried  every  day  the  building. 
They  were  good  friends,  Antonio  and  Francisco, 
And  oftentimes  Francisco  heard  him  praising 
Dolores'  beauty,  and  her  thousand  virtues, 
Nor  let  him  know  how  his  own  heart  was  beating; 
Nor  guessed  Antonio  once  a  thought  of  danger. 
The  time  was  near,  the  church  was  most  completed; 
Antonio's  perfect  rapture  was  approaching. 
She  would  be  there — be  at  the  dedication, 
Her  voice  would  add  to  all  the  festive  pleasure; 
And  then  the  day,  the  one  day  of  all  others, 
Was  it  not  coming  with  delight  and  music! 
Then  came  the  word  no  ship  would  soon  be  sailing 
From  Monterey  toward  Capistrano  mission, 
Not  for  a  month  would  any  ship  sail  southwards. 
Dismayed,  the  friars  talked  with  one  another, 
She  must  be  here,  our  fairest,  greatest  singer, 
The  Padre,  too,  the  head  priest  of  the  mission, 
Would  see  his  niece  at  this  the  great  occasion, 
And  said,  "Francisco,  you  I  trust  to  bring  her, 
And  some  companion  she  may  choose  beside  her." 
Then  came  Antonio,  too,  and  urged  Francisco, 
"Are  we  not  friends — go  you  and  bring  Dolores." 
But  did  not  dream  they  ever  had  been  lovers. 
"Ride  to  Carmelo,  on  the  king's  great  highway, 

Tomorrow  take  the  fleetest  of  my  horses." 

*         *         x         *         # 

Astounded  was  he,  yet  he  could  not  show  it— 

A  thousand  thoughts  went  through  Francisco's  bosom — - 

He  made  excuse — "he  was  at  home  much  needed; 

There  were  rehearsals  of  the  music  waiting." 

Said  this,  said  that,  Antonio  but  insisted. 

And  so  he  went  along  the  king's  great  highway, 

Along  the  seaside  and  beside  the  mountains, 

The  sea  no  more  perturbed  than  were  his  feelings. 


42          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER   POEMS 

One  afternoon,  among  the  roses  walking, 
Up  at  Carmelo,  where  the  sea  was  shining, 
Dolores  saw  him  coming  in  the  garden; 
And,  so  surprised,  she  wondered  at  his  coming, 
A  little  while  they  wandered  through  the  garden, 
Glad  of  this  chance  to  look  upon  each  other, 
Yet  neither  speaking  of  the  thing  the  nearest. 
For  both  were  bounden,  she  who'd  made  her  promise — 
And  he  whom  trust  had  sent  upon  this  errand. 
Once  they  climbed  up  a  hillside  from  the  valley, 
There  saw  the  ocean  glistening  bright  before  them. 
Saw  aisles  of  pine  and  heard  their  low-toned  music, 
Saw  gentle  hills  with  every  blossom  glowing, 
A  babbling  river  dancing  to  the  ocean. 
There  lay  Carmelo,  heaven's  own  hand  had  touched  it, 
And  made  it  beautiful  above  all  others. 
Its  sun-kissed  gardens  and  its  snow-white  lilies, 
Its  clustering  roses  and  its  field  of  poppies, 
Made  all  the  air  a  something  so  delicious 
That  every  lover  loved  Carmelo  valley. 
Great  memories,  too,  around  the  place  were  clinging, 
There  Junipero  lived — the  good,  the  holy— 
The  master  hand,  the  soul  of  all  the  missions, 
He  who  had  brought  salvation  to  the  heathen. 
Beneath  a  slab  there  in  San  Carlos  mission, 
Hid  all  in  roses,  he  is  softly  sleeping, 
Whose  name  in  tender  hearts  will  burn  forever. 
Three  days  in  joy  the  happy  lovers  lingered, 
For  they  were  lovers,  spite  of  bounden  duty. 
Each  loved  in  silence  though  he  dare  not  tell  it, 
Nor  break  a  vow,  for  both  of  them  were  bounden. 
***** 

"Tomorrow  we  shall  ride,"  Francisco  said  it— 
uDown  El  Camino,  there  the  beauteous  highway. 
Down  the  long  way  past  sea  and  hill  and  mission, 


44          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER   POEMS 

To  Capistrano.     He  will  there  be  waiting." 
Dolores  smiled  a  little — then  a  shadow 
Fell  on  her  face  and  hid  what  she  was  feeling. 
And  so  they  rode  onwards  on  the  highway, 
Along  the  seashore,  listening  to  its  music, 
She  on  the  great  white  horse  Antonio  gave  her, 
Francisco  riding  on  a  coal  black  stallion, 
With  gorgeous  saddles  both,  and  jeweled  bridles; 
Had  she  been  queen  she  had  not  then  been  greater. 
Antonio's  name  was  known  at  every  mission. 
Dolores,  too,  fair  golden-haired  Dolores; 
Not  less  Francisco,  he  the  famed  musician. 
Two  hundred  leagues,  not  less,  the  happy  journey. 
So  they  rode  on,  at  every  mission  waiting, 
(For  all  men  knew  Antonio's  bride  was  coming), 
A  troop  of  girls,  young  neophytes,  would  meet  them, 
Pelt  them  with  roses,  scatter  palms  before  them, 
Sing  joyous  songs  and  lead  them  to  the  mission; 
There  feast  and  toast  and  castanet  and  viol, 
Brought  to  a  close  each  day  of  sweetest  travel. 
Sometimes  they  met  a  barefoot  pilgrim  friar 
Making  his  way  to  Carmelo,  or  farther, 
Who  made  the  cross,  and  blessed  them,  ever  saying, 
"May  God  be  with  you  as  you  fare  together." 
Four  happy  days  like  bees  on  roses  sipping, 
The  lovers  traveled  by  the  sweet  sea's  border, 
Yet  not  of  love  had  either  one  yet  spoken, 
For  each  one  knew  he  to  a  vow  was  bounden. 
But  once  at  noon  they  passed  a  field  of  poppies 
All  golden  glinting,  by  the  seaside  growing; 
Francisco  saw  them,  leaped  from  off  his  stallion 
And  brought  a  nosegay  to  the  happy  maiden. 
"My  fancy  yet,  and  you  have  not  forgotten," 
She  smiling  said,  and  placed  them  on  her  bosom. 
Yet  was  it  true,  a  thought  was  ever  with  her 
That  heavier  grew  as  no\v  the  journey  ended; 


BELLS  OF   CAPISTRANO  4? 

Spite  of  the  joy  the  golden  days  had  brought  her, 
The  very  poppies  made  it  all  the  harder; 
And  all  the  time  there  riding  by  Francisco, 
She  thought  in  silence  of  a  half-made  promise; 
Thought  of  that  night  there  by  the  little  river, 
Antonio's  pleading — and  her  half-made  promise; 
How  he  had  saved  her  from  an  unknown  terror; 
Then  saw  Francisco  riding  there  beside  her, 
Felt  something  tearing  every  heartstring  from  her, 
Love,  and  that  promise,  struggling  with  each  other. 
So  they  rode  on — and  still  no  word  was  spoken. 
*         *         *         *         * 

Francisco,  too,  now  as  the  day  was  closing, 
Felt  as  awakened  from  a  pleasant  vision— 
A  moment's  joy,  and  then  the  dream  departing 
Left  only  shadow  as  the  journey  ended. 
He  had  lacked  courage;  up  there  at  Carmelo 
He  should  have  spoken — ventured  all  to  have  her; 
The  trust  he  held,  was  it  not  forced  upon  him? 
It  was  too  late;  he  saw,  as  in  a  vision, 
A  marriage  feast,  Antonio  and  Dolores 
Walk  down  an  aisle  with  orange  blossoms  fragrant. 
***** 

So  they  rode  on  and  yet  no  word  was  spoken. 
A  little  while,  and  now  the  sun  was  setting, 
Drowning  itself  in  the  Pacific  Ocean, 
With  such  a  trail  of  glory  left  behind  it 
As  only  comes  to  sunsets  in  that  region. 
***** 

It  was  clear  moonlight  now  at  Capistrano 
When  these  two  lovers  stopped  before  the  mission. 
Antonio  welcomed  them,  he  had  been  waiting, 
And  helped  Dolores  from  her  silken  saddle, 
And  helping  saw  the  golden  yellow  poppies. 


BELLS   OF   CAPISTRAXO  47 

Few  words  were  said,  Antonio,  without  telling, 
Knew  from  that  moment  that  he  had  a  rival. 
Francisco  took  the  horses  toward  the  river, 
To  give  them  water  where  the  stream  was  clearest, 
For  now  it  was  receded  almost  wholly 
From  a  great  drouth  that  fell  upon  the  valley. 
And  while  the  horses  stood  there  in  the  water, 
Or  in  the  sand  where  he  himself  was  standing, 
Their  hoofs  struck  on  some  iron  thing  or  other. 
With  both  his  hands  Francisco  delved  a  little 
Down  in  the  sand,  when  lo!  there,  deep  imbedded, 
He  found  the  bells  of  Capistrano  mission! 
'Twas  like  a  dream  or  some  sweet  thing  from  heaven. 
A  thousand  joys,  all  in  one  joy  together; 
Now  he  could  speak — was  it  not  her  own  promise 
Who  found  the  bells — her  hand  should  have  forever? 
And  in  her  eyes  had  he  not  sometimes  read  it— 
The  hope  that  he  might  find  the  hidden  treasure? 
That  she  had  loved  and  never  dared  to  tell  it? 
***** 

Then  in  the  moonlight  friars  came  and  labored 

With  all  the  mission  glad  almost  to  crying— 

So  thankful  were  they  for  the  thing  that  happened. 

That  very  night,  through  all  the  little  valley, 

The  news  was  spread  like  prairie  fires  in  autumn, 

And  eager  hands  in  long  procession  forming, 

Now  bore  the  bells  in  gladness  to  the  mission. 

High  mass  was  sung  at  daybreak  of  the  morning, 

"Regina  Salve,"  'twas  Dolores  singing. 

Antonio  heard  her,  as  he  did  that  morning 

When  first  he  saw  her  at  the  mission  chapel— 

The  day  he  waved  his  great  sombrero  to  her. 

The  service  out,  the  two  went  to  the  river; 

To  that  same  spot  where  in  the  moonlight  walking 

She  once  had  promised  without  scarcely  knowing. 


48          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER   POEMS 

Antonio  spoke,  "Bright  honor's  left,  Dolores, 
Here  is  the  spot,  our  trysting  place  last  summer. 
The  promise,  half  enforced,  you  scarcely  granted. 
I  saw  tonight  was  thankfulness,  not  passion; 
I  was  love-blind,  too  strong  my  great  devotion. 
We  both  have  vowed,  nor  shall  my  vow  be  broken: 
The  bells  are  found,  you  are  no  longer  bounden. 
Take  one  you  love,  there,  I  release  you  wholly; 
Nor  you  nor  I  are  any  longer  bounden." 
He  strode  his  horse  and  rode  far  up  the  valley, 
And  no  one  knew  Antonio's  heart  was  broken. 
Dolores  lingered,  saw  him  disappearing, 
With  moistened  eyes  turned  slowly  toward  the  mission. 
And  that  great  weight  was  slowly  lifted  from  her. 

That  day,  almost,  Francisco  and  Dolores 
Walked  o'er  the  hills  and  pretty  vales  together. 
Then  said  Francisco,  "Long,  so  long,  Fve  waited. 
May  I  not  speak  now,  that  you  are  not  bounden? 
There  at  Carmelo  once  I  almost  ventured, 
And  then  I  thought,  the  trust  I  had  was  holy, 
Antonio  trusted  me,  I  dared  not  say  it; 
And  when  I  gave  the  poppies  to  you,  also, 
I  was  most  minded  then  to  tell  you  frankly. 
Again  I  thought,  some  other  one  might  love  you, 
Might  find  the  bells,  and  you  would  keep  your  promise. 
Now  I  speak  out;  I  love  you,  dear  Dolores. 
The  bells  are  here  and  I  would  hear  them  ringing 
On  that  dear  day  when  we  two  shall  be  wedded." 
***** 

And  so  the  bells  were  kept  a  little,  silent; 
Although  the  church  was  finished  now,  and  waiting, 
Till  on  a  day  these  lovers  twain  were  married. 
Then  all  at  once  the  bells  rang  out  their  music, 
And  all  the  valley  joined  in  song  and  dancing. 


50          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER   POEMS 

Without  a  change  weeks  passed  there  at  the  mission, 
The  old  routine  of  labor  and  religion; 
Save  that  the  mission  now  was  growing  richer; 
Great  herds  of  cattle  grazed  upon  the  mountains, 
And  flocks  of  sheep  that  never  could  be  numbered, 
And  crowds  of  Indians  came  and  were  converted. 
***** 

Then  came  that  day  that  made  this  place  a  ruin- 
When  all  the  coast  of  the  Pacific  Ocean 
For  one  short,  awful  moment,  rocked  and  trembled, 
And  all  the  missions  shook  to  their  foundation. 
But  this  one  most,  felt  yonder  earthquake's  coming, 
The  twilight  mass  of  a  December  morning 
Was  being  sung  there  in  the  finished  temple, 
When  all  at  once,  the  church  dome  reeled  a  little, 
The  roof  spread  open,  showed  the  sky  above  it, 
Then  with  a  crash  the  whole  fell  down  together. 
***** 

For  many  days  the  buried  ones  were  sought  for; 
Some  said,  Antonio,  too,  was  buried  with  them, 
But  none  were  certain,  in  the  dread  confusion. 
The  hunt  for  lost  ones  was  at  last  abandoned; 
The  little  graveyard  there,  behind  the  mission, 
Already  full;  but  on  a  day  when  the  great  mass  was 

singing 

For  souls  of  all  who  had  so  sadly  perished, 
A  ship  came  by,  its  captain  had  a  letter- 
Dolores'  name  was  quickly  seen  upon  it; 
'Twas  from  Antonio  written  ere  the  earthquake 
Had  cast  the  mission  in  a  sea  of  sorrow, 
"Once  sudden  news,"  so  ran  it,  took  him  northwards, 
Nor  gave  him  time  for  any  farewell  message. 
And  now  he  wrote  to  say  he  was  not  angry; 
She  had  done  well  to  marry  where  her  heart  was, 


BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO 

And  now  he  knew  'twas  gratiude,  not  passion 
That  made  her  promise  to  be  bounden  to  him. 
So  went  the  letter,  telling  news  from  Spainwards, 
He  had  been  given  back  his  castles,  titles, 
So  had  no  use  for  lands  so  very  distant; 
His  valley  rancho,  reaching  west,  and  seaward, 
She  must  accept  it  as  her  wedding  present; 
And  so  they  would  be  friends  forever  after. 


51 


GLORIETTA 


NOTE: 

There  was  a  time  when  beautiful  Monterey  by  the 
Sea  wras  the  capital  of  California.  The  people  there,  as 
all  along  the  Pacific  Coast,  wrere  mostly  Spanish — \vith 
Spanish  customs,  dress,  and  manners.  The  old  Mission 
houses  were  still  in  their  glory,  and  Monterey,  then  the 
gem  of  the  Pacific,  was  a  very  gay  and  luxurious  little 
capital.  It  was  not  surpassed  for  beauty  anywhere  on 
the  Pacific. 


ERRATA 

Substitute  second  line  of  Page  55  by  second  line  of  Page  57. 
Substitute  second  line  of  Page  57  by  second  line  of  Page  55. 


GLORIETTA 

OR  THE 

CITY  OF  FAIR  DREAMS 

Oh,  many,  many  years  ago  this  tale 

Had  drifted  off  from  its  beloved  Spain, 

So  beautiful  it  seemed;  the  bending  sail, 
And  the  blue  sky,  like  that  of  Italy. 

There  grew  the  palm  and  there  the  lemon  tree, 
And  every  flower  that's  beautiful  to  see. 

Outside  the  bay  the  mighty  ocean  rolled 
In  liquid  mountains,  or  in  glist'ning  sea, 

And  moonlight  nights  some  wondrous  story  told 
To  listening  forests  and  to  meadowed  lea; 

And  lovers,  walking  in  the  moonlight,  heard 

Their  sweethearts'  voices  when  the  sea  was  stirred, 

Such  was  the  scene,  where  the  fair  city  stood, 
By  poets  called  "The  City  of  Fair  Dreams," 

Between  the  forest  and  the  shining  flood; 
And  even  now,  to  strangers'  eyes  there  seems 

Some  lingering  glory  of  that  happy  day 
When  all  was  merry  in  old  Monterey. 

'Twas  at  a  time  when  Spanish  friars  bore 
For  many  years  their  long  and  kindly  sway 

In  grand  old  Missions  stretched  along  the  shore 
From  San  Diego  to  Francisco  Bay. 

Then  all  was  Spanish — manners,  speech  and  dress — 
Save  the  wild  Indians  in  the  wilderness. 


GLORIETTA  57 

'Twas  just  as  if  some  island  in  the  past 

Had  its  beginning  by  a  charmed  sea, 
And  by  some  wondrous  miracle  been  cast 

Along  the  shores  of  the  Pacific  main: 
Or  was't  Arcadia  that  had  been  lost, 

And  by  some  chance  had  hitherward  been  tossed? 

Be  it  as  it  may,  it  was  a  lovely  land, 

And  joyous  people  lived  along  its  coast; 

There  dance  and  music  wandered  hand  in  hand. 
And,  next  to  these,  their  horses  were  their  boast, 

No  Arab  tenting  in  the  desert  airs 

Had  steeds  so  swift,  so  beautiful  as  theirs. 

He  was  not  poor  who  had  his  desert  steed, 

With  silver  spangles  hung  on  neck  and  breast, 

Bejeweled  saddle,  beautiful,  indeed, 

And  wondrous  spurs  outshining  all  the  rest. 

It  was  a  sight  sometimes  to  look  upon, 

These  new-world  knights  and  their  caparison. 

Famed  was  the  land  for  other  things  as  well, 
Famed  for  fair  women,  beauteous  to  behold, 

With  great  black  eyes,  and  olive  skins  to  tell 
Castilian  blood;  and  forms  of  fairest  mold. 

Of  one  of  these,  had  I  a  harp  to  sing, 
Fd  tell  a  tale  not  all  imagining. 

For  there  was  one,  a  child  almost  in  years, 
Some  sixteen  summers  only  had  been  hers, 

But  in  that  clime  of  rose-leaf  and  of  tears, 
Love  wakens  early  and  its  passion  stirs. 

So,  Glorietta,  soft  as  any  dove, 

Just  laughed  and  loved,  yet  never  thought  of  love. 


GLORIETTA  59 

Till  on  a  day  when  Ivan  came  to  woo, 
A  fisher's  lad,  he  was,  down  by  the  bay, 

Who  dived  for  pearls  of  many  a  heavenly  hue 
That  in  the  bottom  of  the  ocean  lay; 

And  here  and  there  a  pretty  shell  he  took 
To  Glorietta  with  a  lover's  look. 

Though  well  she  prized  these  pretty  courtesies, 
There  was  a  gulf  that  stretched  betwixt  the  two, 

A  stream  unbridged,  and  bridgeless,  most,  as  seas, 
Without  a  road  that  any  lover  knew. 

For  what  was  he?    A  common  fisher's  son, 
And  she,  the  heiress  of  a  Spanish  don. 

O!  she  was  young,  and  beautiful  of  face, 
With  melting  eyes,  a  joy  to  look  upon, 

Big,  black  and  deep,  like  her  Castilian  race; 
Who  looked  too  long  was  sure  to  be  undone. 

That  Ivan  learned,  although  he  was  so  young, 

Yet  loved  the  sting  with  which  he  had  been  stung. 

Her  hair — such  hair — in  two  great  braids  fell  down 
Like  twisted  ropes,  black  as  the  ebon  night. 

Upon  her  beautiful  but  girlish  gown 

Of  simple  rose,  bedecked  with  lilies  white. 

Hearts  had  been  cold,  or  ice,  or  something  worse, 
Not  to  be  moved  by  eyes  and  hair  like  hers. 

She  was  akin  to  the  Don  Carlos  line; 

Though  orphaned  young  she  might  have  riches  still, 
For  the  Alcalde,  now  Count  Valentine, 

Had  many  lands  and  herds  on  every  hill. 
He  was  her  guardian,  and  could  well  endow 

Such  rose  of  beauty  as  he  saw  her  now. 


60          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER   POEMS 

Upon  the  hill  where  his  gray  palace  stood 
Fair  flowers  grew  of  every  hue  and  kind; 

The  bougainvillea,  with  its  purpling  flood, 
In  drifted  banks  the  walls  and  porches  lined. 

But  Glorietta,  far  beyond  compare, 
Was  fairest  yet  of  any  flower  there. 

And  when  the  harvest  of  the  vine  was  on 
In  the  sweet  autumns  of  that  blessed  clime, 

When  summer's  heats  and  summer's  suns  were  gone 
And  frosts  just  touched  the  orange  and  the  lime, 

Then  manly  youths  were  to  the  labor  pressed, 
And  Ivan,  too,  was  there  among  the  rest. 

So  it  fell  out,  as  in  that  long  ago, 

When  Ruth  and  Boaz  in  the  harvest  met, 

Love  had  its  way,  or  Ivan  wished  it  so, 
And  cast  himself  in  Glorietta's  net, 

Just  at  the  moment  when  she  brought  the  wine 
Sent  to  the  gard'ners  by  Count  Valentine. 

'Twas  like  a  dream,  the  sudden  joy,  to  him! 

Not  many  grapes  he  gathered  on  that  day, 
Nor  on  the  next,  for  other  things  now  drew 

His  one  attention  in  another  way, 
And  oftener  now  did  Glorietta  bear 

Her  jugs  of  wine  out  to  the  gard'ners  there. 

And  once,  unconsciously,  the  jug  she  held 
To  Ivan's  lips,  that  he  might  drink  his  fill, 

As  if  by  accident  his  face  she  touched, 

And  quick  he  felt  it,  the  immortal  thrill,— 

Such  thrill  as  comes  but  once  to  any  soul, 
Or  rich  or  poor,  it  is  love's  sweetest  toll. 


§    : 


62          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER   POEMS 

So  days  went  on,  the  vintage  was  not  done, 
And  every  day  young  Ivan  there  would  be 

To  gather  grapes  in  the  sweet  autumn  sun, 
Or  pick  the  lemons  from  the  lemon  tree; 

But  most  to  see  his  sweetheart,  and  adore, 
And  every  day  she  welcomed  him  the  more. 

There  was  an  arbor  on  the  palace  ground, 
Hid  all  in  roses  of  sweet  loveliness, 

Where  all  was  silence  save  the  gentle  sound 
Of  little  brooklets  and  the  wind's  caress. 

There  Glorietta  at  the  noontide  came: 

Who  wonders  now  that  Ivan  did  the  same! 

So  in  sweet  converse  flew  the  blessed  noon, 
While  they  sat  looking  in  each  other's  eyes, 

Amazed  an  hour  could  fly  away  so  soon. 
But  time  to  lovers  very  quickly  flies; 

Not  much  their  feast  on  either  bread  or  wine, 
On  other  things,  'tis  said,  do  lovers  dine. 

Yes,  talk  they  had,  and  maybe,  kisses,  some. 

For  they  were  glad  of  life,  and  everything: 
Youth  must  be  so — delicious  it  can  come, 

And  this  was  now  the  flower  of  their  spring. 
Give  love  a  bower,  in  vines  and  roses  drest, 

And  melting  eyes,  and  love  will  do  the  rest. 

There,  in  their  moments  of  felicity, 

Young  Ivan  told  her  of  a  thousand  things; 

Of  the  pearl-divers  and  the  sapphire  sea, 
And  the  great  fishes  that  had  shining  wings; 

Of  caverns  told,  and  rocks  that  overhung 

The  ocean  caves  where  the  pearl-fishes  clung. 


GLORIETTA  63 

How  he  himself  the  dangers  underwent 
Of  diving  down,  his  trusty  knife  in  hand, 

To  cut  them  loose  from  walls  and  caverns  rent, 
Then  sudden  rise  and  cast  them  on  the  sand: 

No  rainbow  hues  more  glorious  could  be 
Than  these,  the  children  of  the  azure  sea. 

How  he  had  seen  a  grotto  wonderful 

Down  in  the  ocean  with  the  waves  above, 

Not  e'en  the  shrieking  of  the  sad  sea-gull 
Was  ever  heard  in  this  enchanted  cove. 

Like  Desdemona,  Glorietta  heard, 

And  breathed  a  sigh  at  every  other  word. 

How,  fearing  not,  again  and  yet  again, 

He  dared  the  dangers  that  around  him  were, 

Not  in  some  hope  of  some  poor  little  gain, 
But  for  a  pearl  that  was  most  worthy  her; 

And  then  he  reached  to  give  it,  with  a  kiss — 
But  hark!  a  step,  and  ended  all  their  bliss! 

It  was  the  Count,  his  face  in  purple  rage. 

Some  evil  soul  had  whispered  in  his  ear, 
How  ever  day  these  lovers  did  engage 

In  guilty  amours,  and  he'd  find  them  here. 
Few  words  were  said,  there  was  not  much  to  say; 

The  place,  the  kiss,  were  they  not  plain  as  day? 

He  railed  a  little,  Glorietta  heard: 

"I  had  no  one  to  guide,  and  I  was  young," 

Her  eyes  were  weeping,  but  no  other  word; 
The  Count,  he  better  too  had  held  his  tongue! 

He  was  himself  not  over  good,  they  say, 
Among  th'  elite  of  lovely  Monterey. 


GLORIETTA  65 

Be  as  it  may,  he  had  his  Spanish  pride ; 

No  kin  of  his  might  ever  think  to  wed 
With  lowly  fisher-folk,  or  be  the  bride 

Of  one  who  labored  for  his  daily  bread. 
That  very  day  he  made  his  plans  to  send 

Young  Glorietta  to  a  distant  friend. 

He  had  a  cousin,  rich  and  proud  and  lone, 

Who  with  a  sister  by  the  desert  dwelt; 
What  took  him  there  had  never  quite  been  known, 

If  fate  or  love  with  him  had  coldly  dealt. 
Don  Eldorado  was  the  cousin's  name, 

A  bit  romantic  and  once  known  to  fame. 

There  Glorietta  will  be  safe  awhile, 

Thought  the  Alcalde,  when  she  reached  the  place, 
And  thinking  so,  a  long  and  happy  smile 

At  times  illumined  the  Alcalde's  face. 
"Time  conquers  love,  at  least  so  I  have  read, 

And  Ivan  well  may  think  her  lost  or  dead." 

For  it  was  planned  that  never  any  word 

Should  pass  between  them  now  forever  more. 

Just  how  'twas  done  no  mortal  ever  heard, 

But  things  like  these  were  often  done  before — 

Some  false  arrest,  some  prison  far  away, 

Or,  at  the  worst,  there  still  would  be  the  bay. 

A  little  while,  though  broke  of  heart  at  first, 
And  Glorietta  almost  loved  the  scene— 

When  on  her  eyes  the  great  wild  desert*  burst 
Like  two  vast  seas,  with  mountains  in  between. 

The  porphyry  hills,  the  red  sea-walls  that  rise, 
Seemed  fit  for  gates  to  some  sweet  paradise. 

Note — The  Mojave  and  the  Colorado  deserts  are  really  the  same  thing.      A  chain 
of   the   Sierra   Madre  mountains   cuts  the   vast   plain    in   two   parts. 


GLORIETTA  67 

Twas  in  the  morning,  and  God's  great  blue  tent 
Spread  over  mountains  and  the  desert  land; 

A  sapphire  glory  every  moment  lent 
Some  lovelier  color  to  the  desert  sand; 

A  little  while,  and  then  the  mountains  seem 
A  mystic  phantom,  a  forgotten  dream. 

Once,  on  a  height,  alone,  she  stood  and  gazed 
On  violet  mountains  and  the  desert  sea. 

A  sudden  sun  above  the  desert  blazed,— 

"O  World!"  she  cried,  uthou  wert  all  joy  to  me 

Were  this  to  last,  with  never  any  tear, 
And  Ivan  standing  close  beside  me  here." 

Now,  Eldorado,  though  not  very  young, 

Kept  in  his  breast  some  fires  not  yet  gone  out, 

Saw  Glorietta,  and  that  moment  flung 

Himself  before  her,  dead  in  love,  no  doubt. 

Love  at  first  sight,  I've  sometimes  heard  it  said, 
Affects  the  heart,  but  oftener  the  head. 

Be  as  it  may,  he  surely  was  most  kind 

To  Glorietta,  never  dreaming  how 
Her  heart  with  Ivan  there  was  left  behind, 

Nor  saw  the  shade  that  often  crossed  her  brow. 
One  thought  was  his,  and  that  he  could  not  hide, 

The  hope  that  quickly  she  would  be  his  bride. 

Each  hour  he  thought  some  pleasant  thing  to  do 
To  please  her  fancy  or  to  kill  the  time; 

Rode  on  the  hills,  looked  on  the  desert  view, 
Or  climbed  the  canyons  glorious  and  sublime, 

Where  thundering  down  some  torrent  came  to  bless 
The  flowering  wastes,  the  desert's  loveliness. 


GLORIETTA  69 

And  lovelier  things  he  thought  of,  and  less  grand, 
The  purple  sage-brush  that  was  everywhere, 

The  yellow  poppy  of  the  sun  and  sand, 
Enchanting  contrast  to  her  raven  hair; 

And  Manzanita  berries,  crimson  red, 

And  purple  heather  from  the  desert's  bed. 

And  desert  holly  of  the  sanded  wild, 

Frost-white  and  fair  as  ever  fair  could  be, 

Sun-born  but  lone,  the  desert's  loveliest  child, 
Its  curling  leaves  God's  own  embroidery. 

All  these  were  hers,  and  others  yet  the  while, 
All  cheaply  purchased  by  a  single  smile. 

Day  in,  day  out,  the  old  new  lover  came; 

Was  it  not  time  to  answer  yes,  or  nay? 
Like  fair  Penelope,  who  did  the  same, 

She  prayed  delaying,  just  another  day, 
And  still  in  hopes  she  yet  might  surely  know 

If  Ivan  really  were  alive,  or  no. 

Just  then  a  letter  from  her  guardian  came; 

A  perfect  thunderbolt  it  must  have  been, 
Full  of  complaining,  and  of  every  blame, 

What  under  heaven  was  it  she  could  mean? 
Could  it  be  so,  such  cold  ingratitude, 

Towards  one  who  always  was  so  kind  and  good? 

Oft  he  had  heard  of  how  his  cousin  sought 
Her  hand  in  marriage,  and  of  her  delay: 

He  was  amazed,  for  was  this  cousin  not 
What  any  girl  could  like  most  any  day? 

Rich,  and  genteel,  and  good  to  look  upon, 
And  then,  still  more,  he  was  a  Spanish  don. 


GLORIETTA  71 

Then,  as  to  Ivan,  heaven  only  knew 

What  had  become  of  him:  perhaps  a  shark 

Had  simply  swallowed  him;  such  things  they  do! 
There  were  great  dangers  down  in  caverns  dark. 

And  anyway,  her  passion  for  him  must 

Long  since  have  turned  to  ashes  and  to  dust. 

There  seemed  no  choice;  that,  Glorietta  saw, 
This  unloved  marriage  was  a  thing  foregone. 

Her  guardian's  wishes,  were  they  not  a  law? 
She  was  as  helpless  as  a  mountain  fawn, 

And  yet  she  waited  still  another  day, 
And  never  answered  either  yes  or  nay. 

At  last  she  spoke.   It  was  a  ruse  to  find 

If  Ivan  really  were  alive  or  dead. 
"It  seems  to  me  that  I  could  speak  my  mind 

If  I  were  only  in  my  home,"  she  said. 
"There  in  our  garden  by  the  crystal  bay, 

There  I  could  answer  either  yes  or  nay." 

"Let  it  be  so!  Tomorrow,"  he  replied, 

Not  guessing  all  her  reasons  nor  the  why; 

"On  my  fleet  steeds  across  the  hills  we'll  ride." 
He  did  not  notice  Glorietta  sigh. 

He  had  forgotten,  too,  about  the  slip 

That  sometimes  happens  'twixt  the  cup  and  lip. 

Next  day  it  was  a  pretty  calvacade 

That  crossed  the  mountains,  westward  to  the  sea. 
The  Don,  his  sister,  and  the  beauteous  maid, 

And  some  retainers,  only  two  or  three. 
A  hundred  miles  was  nothing  then  to  ride, 

At  least  to  win  so  beautiful  a  bride! 


72          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER  POEMS 

A  little  while,  and  now  in  Monterey, 

The  dear  old  city  by  the  sounding  sea, 
There  was  great  talk  among  the  young  and  gay 

Of  an  event  that  very  soon  would  be. 
"The  Don  was  rich,"  that  much  the  gossips  said, 

"And  Glorietta  had  come  home  to  wed." 

Not  in  whole  years  had  there  been  such  a  stir. 

The  Alcalde's  ward  was  now  a  beauty,  grown, 
All  eyes  were  turned  for  but  a  glimpse  of  her 

Or  the  great  Don  who  claimed  her  for  his  own. 
A  little  while,  and  wedding  bells  would  ring, 

And  guests  be  bid  up  to  the  revelling. 

Now  there  was  searching  of  old  wardrobes  through 
For  gowns  unique,  and  rich,  of  long  ago; 

Gold  satin  skirts,  and  rare  mantillas,  too, 

And  high  heeled  boots  with  gold  or  silver  bow; 

Queer  combs  from  Spain,  and  jewels  rare  and  bright, 
To  wear  on  Glorietta's  wedding  night. 

It  was  proclaimed  among  the  ladies  all, 
To  be  au  fait  one  must  be  gaily  dressed, 

And  there  would  be  a  Spanish  carnival, 
To  make  this  wedding  seem  the  very  best. 

The  men  also,  in  picturesque  array, 

Expectant  waited  for  the  wedding  day. 

Young  Ivan,  meantime,  had  been  lost  to  view; 

No  trace  of  him  could  Glorietta  find, 
And  now  there  seemed  no  other  thing  to  do 

Than  wed  the  Don,  though  much  against  her  mind 
So,  though  in  tears,  she  gave  a  half  consent, 

And  all  was  fixed,  just  as  her  guardian  meant. 


GLORIETTA  73 

The  day  has  come,  the  sun  will  soon  be  down, 
A  hundred  guests  on  horseback  gaily  ride 

Up  to  the  palace,  quite  outside  the  town, 

To  greet  the  bridegroom  and  to  kiss  the  bride, 

As  was  the  custom  in  the  days  of  yore, 
Each  rider  held  his  fair  one  on  before. 

Down  by  the  sea  the  glad  old  mission  bells 
Ring  out  a  sweet,  a  half  voluptuous  chime. 

The  saintly  friar  there  a  moment  tells 

His  beads  to  heaven  in  this  dear,  happy  time: 

Then  turns  his  steps,  he  must  be  there  to  say 
The  nuptial  vows  on  this  their  wedding  day. 

At  her  high  window  Glorietta  stood, 
And  saw  the  riders  in  their  glad  array, 

Yet  felt  that  moment  that  she  almost  could 
Have  thrown  herself  into  the  shining  bay: 

All  seemed  a  mockery  to  her,  the  scene, 

Not  less  her  wedding  dress  of  gold  and  green. 

Out  on  the  lawn  a  bright  pavillion  showed, 

Hung  round  with  flags,  and  open  at  the  side, 

Already  circled  by  the  common  crowd, 

For  all  would  see  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride. 

Half  in  the  dark  one  silent  figure  leant 
Against  the  curtains  of  th'  illumined  tent. 

A  little  while,  and  look!    The  priest  has  come, 
And  bride  and  groom  walk  slowly  down  the  line. 

In  a  few  words  she  is  bid  welcome  home, 
By  the  Alcalde,  old  Count  Valentine. 

In  smiles  and  tears,  she  waits  the  solemn  word: 
Yet  listen,  now,  a  singer's  voice  is  heard. 


GLORIETTA  75 

A  pretty  custom  in  the  land  they  had, 

That  girlhood  friends  about  the  bride  should  be, 
To  sing  some  song,  some  pretty  words,  nor  sad, 

To  wish  her  joy  and  all  felicity, 
Before  the  one  and  final  word  is  said, 

Before  the  priest  pronounced  her  duly  wed. 

And  so  to-night  the  singers  come  and  sing, 

And  to  a  lute  some  verses  improvise; 
Some  happy  thought,  perhaps  some  little  thing, 

Each  for  herself  some  pretty  couplet  tries, 
Then  hands  the  lute  to  her  who  next  her  is, 

Who  smiling  sings  of  future  ecstasies. 

Meanwhile  the  bride,  who  is  all  listening 

To  honied  phrases  she  is  glad  to  hear, 
Herself  prepares  some  pretty  song  to  sing, 

For  see,  the  lute  to  her  is  coming  near! 
That  moment  look,  her  eyes  are  quickly  bent 

On  that  lone  figure  by  the  curtained  tent. 

Half  in  the  shadow,  halfway  in  the  light, 

Two  sad  dark  eyes  are  looking  straight  at  hers. 

Heavens!  it  is  Ivan,  come  this  very  night! 
A  sudden  joy  her  inmost  bosom  stirs; 

She  dare  not  speak,  a  hundred  wait  around, 
And  he  were  dead  if  near  the  palace  found. 

Quick  beat  her  heart,  it  was  her  turn  to  sing, 

A  prayer  she  breathed  for  guidance.  What  to  do? 

Her  voice  she  feared  had  sudden  taken  wing, 

And  Ivan's  eyes  were  piercing  through  and  through. 

Oh!  would  some  saint  in  all  Love's  calendar 
That  moment  come  and  pitying  smile  on  her. 


76          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER  POEMS 

She  waits  a  little — then  an  Indian  air 

Came  to  her  mind  that  he  had  often  sung. 

Not  one  would  know  it  of  the  many  there, 
For  it  was  only  of  the  Indian  tongue. 

She  took  the  lute  and  sang  a  melody 
Of  love  beside  the  Manzanita  tree: 


The  moon's  above  the  ocean  now, 
Then  hasten,  love,  to  me, 

And  keep  the  vow  you  made  beside 
The  Manzanita  tree. 


The  stars  across  the  heavens  sweep, 

As  faithful  as  can  be. 
Let  us  be  faithful,  too,  beside 

The  Manzanita  tree. 


The  mist  is  on  the  mountain  top, 

The  mist  is  on  the  lea, 
Tonight,  tonight,  we  meet  beside 

The  Manzanita  tree. 


The  Manzanita  berry's  ripe, 
And  red  as  red  can  be, 

O  who  would  not  go  loving  by 
The  Manzanita  tree. 


What  if  another  claim  my  hand, 
My  heart,  my  heart's  with  thee, 

So  we  will  meet  tonight  beside 
The  Manzanita  tree. 


GLORIETTA  77 

Each  sigh,  each  thought,  the  listning  lover  heard, 
And  knows  the  meaning  of  the  song  she  sings, 

And  ere  the  priest  has  said  the  solemn  word 
A  steed  all  saddled  to  the  gate  he  brings: 

A  sign,  a  gesture,  from  her  lover  there, 

And  they  are  gone,  and  no  one  knoweth  where. 

And  they  have  mounted  on  the  swiftest  horse, 
The  fleetest  steed  the  Alcalde  ever  owned 

They  ford  the  Carmel  in  its  swiftest  course, 

The  old  sea-bay  behind  them  moaned  and  moaned, 

And  many  a  cypress  gnarled  by  storm  and  wind 
There  in  the  moonlight  they  have  left  behind. 

Into  the  mountains,  all  the  night  they  rode, 
On  narrow  ways,  along  the  canyon's  side, 

Where  moon  and  stars  no  more  the  pathway  showed, 
Till  the  bright  dawn  the  flying  lovers  ride, 

Then  change  their  course,  for  path  there  now  is  none, 
And  leave  the  horse  and  climb  the  rocks  alone. 

And  still  a  day,  now  downward  toward  the  sea, 
Some  ignis  fatuus  beckons  them  along; 

Though  tired  of  limb  and  hungry  they  may  be, 

They  think  they  hear  some  soft,  sweet  siren's  song — 

It  is  the  sea-wave's  voice  alone  they  hear, 
Forever  sweet  to  any  lover's  ear. 

And  they  have  reached  the  hemmed-in  ocean's  shore, 
Cliffs  right  and  left,  behind  them  but  despair. 

Are  they  pursued,  there  is  not  any  more 

The  smallest  hope  of  further  flight  than  there: 

But  see!  a  ship  is  yonder  passing  by, 
Or  is't  a  phantom  of  the  mist  and  sky? 


78          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND   OTHER  POEMS 

Full-sailed  it  rides,  yet  scarcely  passes  on — 

"  Tis  not  a  league,"  cried  Ivan,  "from  the  shore, 

Trust  to  my  arms:  a  thousand  times  I've  gone 
Down  in  the  deeps  and  braved  the  ocean's  roar. 

Here  it  is  calm,  and  yonder  ship  may  prove 
A  rest  from  flight,  a  refuge  place  for  love." 

And  they  are  gone  into  the  mist  and  wave, 

Far  out  of  sight  of  each  pursuing  one. 
If  in  the  sea  they  find  a  lovers'  grave, 

Now  who  may  know,  since  mist  and  ship  are  gone! 
Time  and  the  sea,  no  matter,  kind  or  rude, 

Can  cover  all,  pursuers,  and  pursued. 

Still,  from  you  cliff,  where  fisher-folk  repair 
On  moonlight  nights  the  ocean  to  behold, 

'Tis  said  they  see,  if  but  the  mist  be  there, 
A  ship  all  shining  like  the  ship  of  old, 

And  on  the  deck  a  lady  walks  serene, 

Still  in  her  wedding  dress,  of  gold  and  green. 


LA  FAVORITA 


LA  FAVORITA 

A  TALE  OF  THE  SPANISH  DAYS  IN  CALIFORNIA 

'Twas  in  the  golden  summer-time, 

When  mocking-birds  their  carols  sung, 

And  friars  heard  the  soothing  rhyme, 
Soft  as  their  own  Castilian  tongue. 

The  mission  bells  of  San  Jose 

In  yonder  valley  sounded  near, 
And  echoing  hills  all  seemed  to  say, 

"Ave  Maria,  welcome  here!" 

'Twas  in  the  golden  summer-time, 

There  where  the  summers  longest  stay, 

A  friar  pilgrim  sought  to  climb 
The  mountain  road  to  Monterey. 

The  purple  wings  of  morning  fanned 

The  golden  poppies  everywhere, 
And  by  the  sea  and  on  the  land 

The  roses  scented  all  the  air. 

Twas  in  that  sweet,  delicious  clime, 
Where  June  goes  lingering  on  and  on, 

Where  cold  nor  storm  nor  winter-time 
May  bid  the  roses  to  be  gone. 

So  on  the  king's  highway  he  went 
Toward  yonder  fair  horizon's  rim; 

Above  him  shone  God's  azure  tent, 

And  all  the  world  seemed  made  for  him. 


82          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

It  was  Vincenzio,  knight  of  God, 
Defender  of  the  missions,  when 

His  lifted  cross  had  overawed 

The  swords  of  twice  a  hundred  men; 

A  saintly  man,  and  pure  of  heart. 

Along  the  shores  there  was  a  tale 
That  once,  when  pilgriming  apart, 

His  eyes  had  seen  the  Holy  Grail. 

Not  this  alone;  his  voice,  his  eye, 
Such  mystic  power  possessed,  a  zeal 

For  that  Christ  cross  he  held  on  high; 
No  soul  withstood  his  heart's  appeal. 

Brown-robed  and  sandaled,  staff  in  hand, 

At  times  he  rested  by  the  sea, 
Looked  at  the  sea-waves  come  to  land, 

Looked  at  the  sea's  infinity. 

And  thought  of  that  most  holy  shrine 
Whereto  his  pilgrimage  was  bent; 

"Dear  Serra's  grave,  O  Dios  mine, 
There  I  would  keel  and  be  content." 

A  little  while  his  feet  have  pressed 
That  heaven-born  valley  of  delight; 

Sweet  Carmel  vale,  not  east  nor  west 
Are  hills  so  green  or  scenes  so  bright. 

There  in  San  Carlos'  shrine  he  knelt, 

He  crossed  him  twice  and  meekly  prayed; 

When  sudden  on  his  cowl  he  felt 

A  woman's  hand — and  sprang  dismayed. 


84          BELLS  OF   CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

No  ghost — too  fair  the  being  seemed, 
With  heavenly  eyes  and  golden  hair; 

He  knew  not  if  he  slept  and  dreamed, 
Or  if  it  were  an  angel  there. 

"Thou  know'st  not  who  I  am"  she  said, 
"But  here  in  dear  Carmelo's  shrine 

I  too  would  humbly  bow  my  head 
And  bid  thee  hear  this  tale  of  mine. 

"Outside  these  doors  three  cavaliers 
Impatient  wait  to  claim  my  hand; 

And  they  are  armed  with  sword  or  spears, 
And  each  is  lord  on  sea  or  land. 

"Not  much  I  love,  nor  heart  have  I ; 

I  have  a  hundred  loves  withstood; 
And  he  I  choose  will  surely  die; 

That  much  is  writ  in  Spanish  blood. 

"For,  spite  of  loves  my  fairness  won, 

Still  I  was  never  yet  content; 
Like  chaff  they  seemed  when  all  was  done ; 

Like  chaff  they  came,  like  chaff  they  went. 

"And  all  the  time  my  thoughts  have  run 
On  a  strange  promise  that  I  made, 

And  how  tomorrow's  setting  sun 
Will  set  upon  a  heart  dismayed." 

*     *     * 

"I  know  thee  well,"  the  friar  spoke; 

"Thou  art  that  far-famed  Isabel, 
La  Favorita ;  she  who  broke 

More  hearts  than  all  my  beads  could  tell." 


LA   FAVORITA  85 

In  truth  she  was  that  Isabel; 

No  one  so  beauteous  far  or  near; 
Where'er  she  went  she  cast  a  spell 

On  humble  folk  or  cavalier. 

The  sky's  blue  light  was  in  her  eyes ; 

Such  loveliness  of  cheeks  she  had 
As  in  the  rose's  petals  lies; 

A  face  men  seeing  once  were  glad. 

If  Spanish  ships  sailed  down  the  shore, 

The  Spanish  sailors  all  would  say, 
"Oh,  let  us  have  one  look  the  more 

At  Isabel  of  Monterey." 

The  brown-robed  friars  passing  by 
Would  count  a  bead  or  two  for  her, 

Say  "Ave  Maria"  with  a  sigh, 
Almost  forgetting  who  they  were. 

At  festival  and  rout  and  ball 

Her  satin  slippers  skimmed  the  floor; 

One  felt  he  had  no  heart  at  all, 
Or  else  he  felt  it  throb  the  more. 

What  though  it  was  a  land  where  reigned 

A  hundred  beauties  everywhere? 
He  had  been  blind,  or  else  had  feigned, 

Who  saw  another  like  to  her. 

What  though  it  was  a  land  where  men 
Were  rich  in  pearls  from  yonder  bay, 

Where  gold  lay  hid  in  every  glen, 
And  ladies  shone  in  fine  array? 


86          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER   POEMS 

She  would  be  finer  than  them  all 
In  pearls  and  gems  and  rich  attire, 

That  when  she  entered  rout  or  ball 
The  dancers  stopped  but  to  admire. 

She  would  have  jewels  such  as  shone 
In  fair  Loretto's  sacred  shrine; 

"Why  should  some  wooden  image  own 
A  hundred  pearls  outshining  mine?" 

And  so  it  was  one  afternoon 

Down  on  the  plaza  by  the  sea, 

She  walked  and  heard  the  sea-waves'  tune; 
The  sea-waves  kept  her  company. 

When  suddenly  three  lovers  came; 

They  had  been  suitors  many  days; 
They  told  her  of  her  beauty's  fame, 

Her  ears  heard  nothing  but  their  praise. 

But  they  were  weary  of  delay, 
And  would  she  not  be  less  unkind 

And,  whether  yes  or  whether  nay, 
Now  tell  them  what  was  in  her  mind? 

She  smiled  and  jestingly  replied, 

"Tomorrow  night's  th'  Alcalde's  ball; 

There  in  the  dancing  I'll  decide 

Which  is  the  knightliest  knight  of  all. 

"I  have  great  love  for  jeweled  rings 
And  pearls  most  precious  in  the  land; 

Who  best  of  these  tomorrow  brings, 
Tomorrow  night  shall  have  my  hand." 


LA   FAVORITA  87 

And  this  is  she,  fair  Isabel, 

Now  kneeling  at  the  altar  rail; 
Each  act,  each  word,  she  fain  would  tell; 

The  friar  listened  to  her  tale. 

Again  she  spoke:  "Dear  Father,  look! 

My  suitors  wait  outside  the  door; 
No  more  delaying  will  they  brook, 

This  day  I  have,  and  one  day  more." 

A  light  illumed  the  friar's  face, 

A  light  as  if  from  heaven  sent; 
Not  once  before  in  all  her  days 

Had  look  so  strange  on  her  been  bent. 

Sweet  were  his  eyes  so  soft  and  brown, 

Such  eyes  as  angels  might  possess, 
Or  such  as  Raphael's  pictures  crown 

When  looked  at  in  their  loveliness. 

She  heard  his  voice;  and  never  yet 
Had  kinder,  sweeter  tones  been  heard; 

What  wonder  if  her  eyes  were  wet, 
Or  that  her  soul  was  deeply  stirred? 

A  moment,  and  she  seemed  to  think 

Life's  curtain  parted,  as  it  were, 
And  she  herself  upon  some  brink, 

And  those  deep  eyes  were  pitying  her. 

The  friar,  list'ning,  seemed  to  know 
The  thing  that  was  her  heart's  desire: 

On  the  great  morrow  should  she  go 
To  sell  her  soul  for  gold  and  hire? 


LA   FAVORITA  89 

"Thou  seek'st  for  guidance?    Maiden!  go! 

Keep  thou  the  promise  lightly  given; 
What  words  to  answer  thou  shalt  know; 

There  shall  be  light  that  hour  from  heaven." 

As  in  a  dream  she  left  the  place; 

A  something  spoke  within  her  breast; 
She  felt  the  bright  eyes  on  her  face, 

They  told  of  peace  and  calm  and  rest. 

***** 

The  sun  was  set;  the  candles  shone 

In  the  Alcalde's  hall  of  state, 
And  torchlights  back  and  forth  were  blown 

Among  the  roses  by  the  gate. 

Within  was  festival  and  dance 

And  sound  of  flute  and  castanet; 
And  dark  eyes  glowed  as  if  by  chance 

On  darker  eyes  more  glowing  yet. 

A  little  while  the  feast  was  on, 

The  tables  groaned  with  fruits  and  wine, 

And  through  the  windows  from  the  lawn 
Came  breath  of  rose  and  eglantine; 

And  look!  Among  the  guests  was  one— 
A  brown-robed  priest  of  quiet  mien; 

He  had  come  late,  this  silent  one, 
And  softly  joined  the  happy  scene. 

And  now  'twas  whispered  round  the  board: 

"This  very  night  we  all  shall  hear 
Which  of  the  knights  with  star  and  sword 

La  Favorita  holds  most  dear." 


90          BELLS   OF   CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER   POEMS 

Soon,  too,  amid  the  toasts  and  wine, 
The  lovers  entered  in  the  hall; 

The  first  one's  gifts  were  lands  and  kine, 
'Twere  wearisome  to  name  them  all. 

The  second  spoke:   "Great  pearls  have  I 
Like  those  Loretto's  self  doth  wear; 

Sweet  counterfeits — I'd  have  them  lie 
Upon  my  sweet  heart's  golden  hair." 

Proud  rose  the  third:  "No  copies  mine, 
No  counterfeits  by  fairy  elves; 

Last  night  I  came  from  yonder  shrine, 
I  bring  Loretto's  pearls  themselves!' 

A  thrill  of  horror  ran  around; 

When  to  the  door  a  guardsman  came, 
With  burning  words  and  voice  profound 

He  called  the  guilty  lover's  name. 

"Five  nights  ago  the  sacristan 

At  far  Loretto's  church  was  slain; 

Hast  thou  the  pearls?  Thou  art  the  man; 
Upon  thy  soul  the  guilt  is  lain!" 

Dumb  and  in  rage  the  lover  stood, 
The  shackles  clanked  upon  his  feet; 

The  guests  all  crossed  themselves,  for  blood 
Seemed  on  the  bread,  the  wine,  the  meat. 

And  look!     Now  rises  at  the  board 
Yon  silent  friar,  cross  in  hand; 

His  tender  eyes,  his  tenderer  word, 
At  once  the  assembled  guests  command. 


LA   FAVORITA  91 

Kindly  he  speaks:     "Fair  Isabel, 
Thou  seest  now  how  vain  is  pride; 

There's  but  one  pearl  that  doth  excel, 
There  is  no  other  pearl  beside. 

"Well  didst  thou  pledge  thy  life  to  give 
For  the  one  pearl  the  highest  priced; 

More  high  than  all — behold  and  live! 
I  bring  thee  here  the  tears  of  Christ!" 

As  comes  sometimes  without  a  thought 

Some  mem'ry  of  forgotten  things, 
As  if  the  mind  a  moment  caught 

A  glimpse  of  the  old  happenings. 

So,  suddenly,  to  Isabel 

Came  thoughts  again  of  yonder  shrine, 
Again  she  felt  the  holy  spell, 

The  eyes,  the  voice,  almost  divine. 

And  they  are  calling  her  again, 

The  shrine,  the  cross,  of  yesterday; 
With  tears,  as  falls  the  summer  rain, 

"Here  are  my  pearls,"  they  heard  her  say. 

"I  will  do  penance  for  my  pride; 

There  is  a  convent  by  the  shore, 
There  many  days  will  I  abide 

In  doing  service  for  the  poor." 

And  yonder  where  the  sea-waves  moan 

By  yonder  convent,  on  the  hill, 
Fair  Isabel  is  fondly  known; 

She  is  La  Favorita  still. 

And  often  on  the  king's  highway 

A  friar  pilgrim  waves  his  hand; 
He  waves  it  twice,  as  if  to  say: 

"Your  pearl  is  noblest  in  the  land." 


AT  SAN  DIEGO 


AT  SAN  DIEGO 

I  hear  the  bells,  the  mission  bells 

Of  San  Diego  town; 
Across  the  bay  the  echo  swells, 

And  over  the  hills  so  brown, 
And  into  the  valley  and  canyons  deep, 

When  the  sun  is  going  down. 

I  think  I  hear  the  friars  still, 

The  saintly  priests  of  Spain, 
Come  down  the  valley  and  round  the  hill, 

From  the  mission  walls  again ; 
And  I  hear  them  chant  as  they  used  to  chant, 

To  the  mission  bell's  refrain. 

I  see  the  palm  tree's  stately  head 

Beside  the  mission  wall, 
The  bending  stream  by  mountains  fed, 

The  canyon  deep,  the  waterfall, 
And  hill,  and  palm,  and  valley  fair, 

And  God's  own  mountains  watching  all. 

And  San  Miguel  lifts  high  his  dome 

Far  over  rock  and  tree, 
The  wild  deer  and  the  eagle's  home, 

The  mountains  at  his  knee, 
While  Loma  bathes  his  rocky  breast 

Deep  in  the  western  sea. 

I  see  the  ships,  the  Spanish  ships, 

Ride  in  the  western  bay, 
Where  safe  at  last  from  wind  and  gale, 

The  pride  of  sea  kings  lay. 
And  the  friars  see  them,  and  think  of  home, 

As  they  cross  themselves  and  pray. 


96          BELLS  OF   CAPISTRANO  AND  OTHER  POEMS 

And  far  along  the  valley's  sweep 

I  hear  the  vesper  chime, 
And  out  of  canyons  dark  and  deep 

Comes  back  the  mystic  rhyme; 
And  not  a  soul  but  prayeth  there 

For  it  is  a  holy  time. 

Gone  are  the  halls  where  long  ago 

There  dwelt  that  brotherhood, 
And  bare  brown  walls  and  arches  low 

Mark  where  the  mission  stood, 
And  the  moping  owl  makes  there  his  home, 

Where  he  feedeth  his  hungry  brood. 

Miguel  still  lifts  his  lofty  head 

Above  the  mountains  gray, 
And  Loma  Point  still  makes  his  bed 

Far  in  the  western  bay; 
But  the  times  are  changed,  and  the  days  are  dead,, 

And  the  friars — where  are  they? 

Changed,  changed  is  all  save  yonder  sea, 

And  yonder  mountains  brown, 
The  breakers'  deep-toned  symphony 

When  the  tide  is  going  down, 
And  the  voices  of  the  mission  bells 

Of  San  Diego  town. 


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JUl    23  1936 


11  1946 


LD21-100m-7,'5 


YC   14618 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


